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HENRY COURTLAND; 



OR, 


WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


BY 


A. J. CLIJN'E. 




J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 


1 8 7 0 . 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the jear 1870, by 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

In the Clerk’s OflBce of the District Court of the United States for the 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 


HENRY COURTLAND; 

OR, 

WHAT A FAEMEE OAH DO. 


CHAPTER I. 

In one of those rich and beautiful counties in the State 
of New York, which border on the great lakes, lying east 
of the British possessions, li^ed not many years ago a 
highly respectable farmer, who had spent a lifetime in the 
cultivation of the soil and the improvement of his domestic 
and intellectual advantages. He had originally emigrated 
from a town of the New England States ; but had so firmly 
taken root in the domain where it was his lot to be after- 
ward cast, that all his recollections, and indeed all his 
attachments, seemed to be identified with that one spot 
alone. He had, it is true, during his long residence on the 
homestead, in which he possessed a fee-simple interest, 
made himself acquainted with all the localities and all the 
good citizens of the neighborhood around him ; but although 
a man of intelligence and observation, his home to him 
was the world in which he chiefly delighted to dwell, and 
his own hearth-stone yielded him the dearest and ripest 
fruits of earthly happiness. 

Henry Courtland was the name of the individual of 
whom we have been speaking. Notwithstanding his being 
only a plain farmer, he was by no means unmindful of im- 
proving the powers of a mind that was naturally quick, 
energetic, and thoughtful. He devoted a great part of 
the time he could spare from his ordinary duties to read- 
ing, and made much of his knowledge subservient to the 
practical purposes of a vocation which he preferred to all 
others, and which he was often heard to say would com- 

( 3 ) 


4 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


pare advantageously with any other calling in the world. 
It was this fond attachment to the duties of his calling 
that made Henry Courtland a man peculiarly distinguished 
among his neighbors, and remarkable for certain charac- 
teristics which appeared to be almost exclusively his own. 
He was a str t disciplinarian in regard to every depart- 
ment of the property he cultivated with so much affection 
and diligence. He was on all occasions as quick and de- 
cided in his movements as the most skillful general of an 
army. He uniformly alleged that the tactics of a farmer 
were not unlike those of a soldier, and that whenever these 
were misunderstood or neglected, the consequences in either 
case were equally fatal. His rules of domestic govern- 
ment were imperative and unbending. Everything had 
to be done in its time — everything had to be in its place — 
and according to maxims which have received the concur- 
rent approbation of mankind, his favorite doctrine wms, 
that there is a time for everything, and a place for every- 
thing. Armed with sentiments and convictions like these, 
he was always in the endeavor to impress their truth and 
importance on the minds of others. He taught them to 
his children — he preached them to his neighbors — he pro- 
claimed them as the orthodox creed of all useful and 
practical men. But he was no theorist. He was too 
prudent — perhaps he was too timid — to venture much on 
the problematical issues of mere experiment. He listened 
with respect to every new suggestion he found in books, 
or that was communicated to him in his personal inter- 
course with others, — but he often hesitated, gave a reason 
for his doubts, and preferred acting on the settled prin- 
ciples of his own certain knowledge, rather than on the 
vague supposition of that which had been only imperfectly 
tested. 

To all these advantages, we must add that Henry 
Courtland was blessed with a loving wife, whose powers 
of judgment in relation to all the ordinary affairs of this 
world were scarcely inferior to his own. It did not indeed 
happen that she always coincided with her husband either 
in the familiar operations of his domestic management, or 
what was to her the less obvious conclusions of his deeper 
philosophy. Like most women who have a mind of their 
own, she was disposed to pay more deference to him as 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


5 


her lord and master, than to follow him implicitly as her 
pruide and teacher. She was indeed proud of her husband. 
She admired his tact, his energy, and his success in accom- 
plishing much that seemed to be beyond the reach of other 
men. She agreed that he might occupy a niche in his own 
department of business, where she was almost willing to 
fall down and worship him. But then she reserved her 
own part of the household temple, where she herself 
exacted an undivided homage, which she felt little dis- 
position to share with another, not even with her husband. 
She wished at least to be regarded as the priestess, if not 
the divinity, of those domestic rites which she had conse- 
crated by her own wisdom, and which she had presided 
over by her own industry. Whenever these were interfered 
with by Mr. Courtland, or by anybody else, she felt as if 
they had received some little touch of profanation from the 
contact. 

At the time our story commences, Mr. and Mrs. Court- 
land had advanced already beyond the middle period of 
life ; and their family, exclusive of the laboring men 
employed on the farm, and the domestics who were 
chiefly occupied in the department which was superin- 
tended by Mrs. Courtland herself, was small. They were 
the parents of but two children, Percy, who was named 
after an old friend of his father, and Harry, who was the 
youngest. These children possessed their own peculiarities 
of character and disposition. In many respects, they were 
not unlike each other, exhibiting that family resemblance 
in mind, as well as in external features, which may be 
traced in all descendants proceeding from the same parents. 
But, in a variety of particulars, they diverged from each 
other like a stream dividing itself into two equal branches, 
pursuing different courses, but retaining strong marks of 
similarity — manifesting the same general features of resem- 
blance, but sometimes exhibiting in their progress a very 
remarkable individuality, if not a downright antagonism. 

It may be well enough to state here, as something which 
had a most beneficial effect on the minds of his children, 
that Mr. Courtland was a man who was strictly and un- 
affectedly religious. With him the feeling of religion was 
an affection, which had been growing stronger from his 
earliest years. It was not that spurious and superficial 

1 * 


6 


HENIi Y CO UR TLAND ; 


bent of character which modern enthusiasm supposes may 
be obtained in a single day or a single hour. But it was 
something better, which was strong, enlightened, and 
effective, in proportion to the long and constant watchful- 
ness and self-denial necessary to acquire it. It was not 
the religion of cant or of bigotry. Perhaps it might have 
been scarcely credited as orthodox by his less practical and 
more formal neighbors. But Mr. Courtland felt it to be 
the religion of the Bible — a religion which regenerates the 
thoughts and affections — which, with its transforming 
power, may be truly said to come home to the business 
and bosoms of men — which, while it constantly aims at a 
more perfect development of the moral character, acknowl- 
edges that it can possess nothing that is good and true, 
nothing that is joyous and happy, but from God alone. 

With such a religion — plain, practical, and evangelical 
— and with a philosophy which received its light and 
spirit from this religion — it could hardly happen other- 
wise than that Mr. Courtland’s children were happily 
educated. But this education was not labored and arti- 
ficial — it was not what the world calls classical. Such a 
course would not have suited the views, and would hardly 
have suited the pocket, of our plain but thrifty farmer. 
His great object was to render his children useful and 
respectable in the world. He was unable to see that this 
usefulness and respectability were necessarily connected 
with what are called the higher employments and profes- 
sions of life. Indeed, he sometimes doubted whether the 
reverse of this was not for the most part the lot of those 
who aimed at distinguishing themselves above their fellow- 
men. He was certain at least that this class of individuals 
was not the most prosperous and happy. In regard to his 
own children, therefore, his first great desire was to confer 
on them a solid but not a showy education. He placed 
them early at an academy, where they had the opportu- 
nity of acquiring the elements of much useful knowledge, 
and even a smattering of what are called the learned lan- 
guages, but he did not go further than this He made 
them to see that they must depend for a practical improve- 
ment of this knowledge on what he would be able to teach 
them at home. It was at his own fireside that he hoped 
to endow them with the fruits of all their previous studies. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


1 


It was here that he endeavored to place before them the 
real characters of men, as far as he was acquainted with 
them himself. Here it was that he told them of the great 
purposes and business of life — of the innumerable errors 
which mortals are everywhere liable to fall into — of the 
painful struggles of selfishness and ambition — of the sor- 
rows and misfortunes inseparable from our best efforts to 
make ourselves happy — of the violence sometimes inflicted 
on integrity of character — and of the only safe protection 
afforded us in applying our principles of knowledge, and 
especially our principles of religion, to stem the torrent of 
evil to which our present lives are exposed. Nor were 
his efforts confined alone to the more prominent events and 
duties by which we are surrounded. He was careful to 
descend into particulars. He was aware that life is made 
up, for the most part, of what are called little things, and 
that these unimportant events are much more intimately 
connected with our happiness than is generally supposed. 
“The whole of our existence,” he would say, “maybe 
compared to a stately building, composed of minute frag- 
ments of stone, wood, and other materials. Neither of 
these fragments, in itself, would seem to be of much im- 
portance, and yet the displacement or derangement of any 
one of them would be sufficient to destroy the security and 
symmetry of the whole edifice.” 


CHAPTER IL 

Under a discipline, such as we have attempted to 
describe in the foregoing chapter, it could hardly have 
happened otherwise than that many solid and lasting im- 
pressions were made on the minds of Mr. Courtland’s 
children. But neither of them had yet arrived at an age 
when he could see the full force and measure of this dis- 
cipline. Their father was made sensible of this from the 
opposition which some of his favorite maxims and wishes 
daily met with. Percy could hardly be persuaded that 


8 


HEi^R Y CO UR TL A .YD ; 


the world was precisely what his father represented it to 
be. He thought it was more liberal, more confiding, and 
less selfish. He believ^ed that men were engaged in the 
pursuit of many objects of real happiness — that the pleas- 
ures to be acquired abroad were much more refined than 
those which he enjoyed at home — and that it was only 
necessary he should make the experiment in order to come 
at once into the full fruition of his hopes and expectations. 
Although he listened respectfully, and ev^en reverently, to 
the precepts of his father, yet he endeavored to persuade 
himself that much allowance must be made for opinions 
derived from early prejudice ; and that even his father’s 
more obvious maxims of wisdom were better suited to his 
own age than to the age of vigorous youth and opening 
manhood. 

Harry busied, himself less with his father’s opinions of 
the world abroad, than he did with the rigid rules which 
he had adopted for governing his little farm at home. It 
seemed to him that many of these rules were superfluous 
and unnecessary, and even annoying. Why should he be 
constantly subjected to a discipline almost as severe as 
that of a camp, when the whole object to be gained was 
merely the insignificant product of a few acres of ground, 
the preservation of an unimportant tree, or the prolonged 
existence of some trifling animal ? Besides, his father 
seemed to him to be embarked in an unending repetition 
of precepts, which only gravitated the more heavily on 
Harry’s apprehension, as he found it impassible to erase 
their already accumulated force from his memory. His 
parent might possibly be right, but he did not think there 
should be a never-ceasing stretch of the same eternal 
vibration, or an endless recurrence of the same monoto- 
nous echo. 

An important crisis had at this time arrived in the 
history of the Courtland family. The two children found 
themselves at an age to which their father had been look- 
ing forward with the deepest anxiety. Hitherto they had 
shared with him the labors of the farm, or had been busily 
engaged in prosecuting their studies either at home or at 
school. But a new experiment was now to be made, or at 
least a new and serious object of inquiry was to be pro- 
pounded to their minds. This was no less than the im- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


9 


portant consideration of making a choice of a profession. 
Their father had always intended to give them the privi- 
lege of this choice, and he had so arranged the business 
of his farm, and the internal regulations of his family, as 
to afford them both an opportunity of making it at the 
same time. 

The period fixed by Mr. Courtland for entering on the 
discussion of this important subject was the birthday of 
his eldest son Percy, who had entered on his twentieth 
year. It had been an invariable rule in the Courtland 
family to pay some attention to the birthday anniversary 
of each individual child and parent. On the occasion in 
question, an invitation had been extended to several of 
the neighbors to join in celebrating this recurring event. 
Henry Courtland was never more happy than when he 
saw or could render others happy around him ; and the 
good cheer and good humor which pervaded his house 
whenever these periods of social hilarity arrived, were 
greatly owing to his own personal attention and example. 

It is unnecessary that we should give a minute detail 
of the fitting preparations made by Mrs. Courtland on the 
present occasion. For many days before this important 
period arrived she was up late and early, superintending 
the renovation of her faded furniture, drawing forth from 
their hidden recesses a variety of conserves and fruits 
which had been stowed away almost for this single pur- 
pose, and arranging her somewhat costly array of tureens, 
platters, and dishes, necessary to give a becoming interest 
to the approaching festival. She was so indefatigable in 
these labors that Maggy, the housemaid, said the bustle 
attending them was fully equal to that of a regular wed- 
ding, which she of course had registered in her own mind 
as the great event of every considerate person’s, and 
especially of every considerate girl’s, existence. 

The dawn which ushered in Percy Courtland’s twen- 
tieth birthday was not distinguished by any extraordinary 
display of either show or greeting. No music was heard 
below the window, and no guns were fired at a distance. 
The lake, which could be seen from the porch of his father’s 
antiquated mansion, lay still and unruffled — the woods 
around were invaded by no noise but the sweet singing 
of birds — and the fields and meadows had been visited 


10 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


during the preceding night by no other influence than that 
of the refreshing dew which so bright!}^ reposed on the 
grass and flowers. But it was a beautiful morning in the 
early part of June. The rosy tints came up from the dis- 
tant horizon in a sky of pure light, without the shadow of 
a cloud to obstruct their rising splendor In a few minutes 
the young blush of the opening day was changed into the 
calm serenity of a summer morning, and the sun shone 
out with a beauty and brilliancy but rarely surpassed in 
softer and more genial climates. 

We have said that no extraordinary incident heralded 
the celebration of Percy Courtland’s birthday. And yet 
it may be necessary to record an event, which if not re- 
markable, seemed at least to give a deeper interest to the 
occurrences by which it was distinguished. Percy had 
retired at his usual hour of rest the evening before, without 
experiencing any impressions calculated to disturb his re- 
pose during the night. It was not long before he closed 
his eyes and fell into a profound sleep. But it happened 
that he wakened up an hour or two before his wonted time 
of rising in the morning. This was an event which could 
occasion no surprise in Percy, since nothing is more 
common than to anticipate our usual hour of waking 
whenever we have marked out the succeeding day for 
some duty or allotment which does not fall within our 
ordinary experience. Having no particular engagement 
at that time which required his immediate attention, and 
finding that he could sleep no longer, he rose and walked forth 
into the open air. As we have already hinted, it was a 
beautiful morning, and Percy possessing a mind that re- 
sponded most feelingly to impressions received from the 
works of nature, no one could have enjoyed its loveliness 
and splendor more than he did. He tripped along with 
an elastic and buoyant step, until pausing on the summit 
of a rising hillock, he fell into a deep and somewhat serious 
reverie. The objects around me,” he said to himself, 
“ are truly interesting and beautiful. I do not feel as if I 
was a poet, and yet I entertain a most loyal affection for 
the hills and streams, the woods and fields, which every- 
where meet my delighted eye. These I have been accus- 
tomed to from my infancy, but I cannot say that I ever 
grew tired of gazing on their simple beauty and grandeur. 


OR, WHAT A FARMHR CAN DO, H 

They seem to preach to me a virtue and a truth which it 
is in vain for me to look for anywhere else. Why should 
I not love them ? and why should I not continue to indulge 
in the enjoyments they are so well calculated to afford ? 
But, no I I am forcibly reminded to-day that these fields, 
and woods, and streams, can have no lasting pleasure for 
me. Yonder rising sun tells me that I am now to begin, 
like him, a new day. But whether it is to end as it 
began in joy and loveliness, or is to be overshadowed by 
clouds and tempests, the future alone can tell. And 
yet why should I fear ? The same Almighty Power that 
guides the sun in his course, when surrounded by shadows 
and darkness, can equally guide and protect me on my 
hazardous journey through life. I will go forward, there- 
fore, with hope, with courage, and with confidence, be- 
lieving that I am safe alike in the storm and in the sun- 
shine.” 

The language made use of by Percy Courtland on the 
occasion we have just narrated was simple in expression, 
but was fervid and eloquent in feeling. The truth is that 
a moment afterward he was surprised at the depth and 
ardor of his own emotions. Although conscious that he had 
some considerable pretensions to knowledge and refine- 
ment, he was half ashamed to own to himself that the 
sentiments he had just uttered were either wise or becom- 
ing. But this surprise and shame were increased a hun- 
dredfold when, happening to turn round, he saw standing 
at but a short distance from him the person of Agnes 
Bussell. 

A very few words will suffice to give some idea of the 
character of the young lady whose name we have just 
mentioned. She was the daughter of Thomas Russell, a 
neighboring farmer, for whom Henry Courtland enter- 
tained a most sincere feeling of esteem and respect. Her 
mother had but recently died, and left this only remaining 
child, who was now about eighteen years of age, to become 
the solace and support of her father in the decline of life. 
Agnes had received a most excellent education. The 
mother whom she had lost had been a woman of uncom- 
mon powers of mind, while at the same time she was 
graced with all those amiable qualities of tenderness, 
kindness, and benevolence, without which the female 


12 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


character may awe but cannot interest us. She had 
passed through and endured with fortitude a full portion 
of the afflictions to which our lot is exposed in the present 
world. One after another her children had been taken from 
her by the cruel hand of death, until Agnes was the last 
that remained of two sons and three daughters. On her, 
therefore, it was natural, nay, almost inevitable, that she 
would bestow the strongest marks of her kindness and atten- 
tion. She had her early placed at school, where, under the im- 
mediate eye and guardianship of a loving and noble-hearted 
friend, she was able for several years to profit by all the 
advantages which a good school is able to bestow. But 
it was chiefly from her mother’s own lips that her mind 
was furnished with a knowledge that was both useful and 
graceful. Mrs. Russell herself not only possessed a 
highly cultivated understanding, but was skilled in all 
the arts belonging to a neat and economical housekeeper. 
Into this refinement and these arts she took great pains to 
initiate her daughter. She endeavored to teach her in all 
simplicity, but with a sacred regard to the great principles 
of truth, the chief ends and purposes of her existence. She 
told her how vain were all the advantages of outward 
show and comfort — how worse than useless were ease 
and affluence — without the power of governing her own 
temper, and of beautifying the immortal spirit that dwelt 
within her. She impressed on her mind the solemn con- 
viction, that it was of much more importance to form and 
mould this inward spirit to a sense of its everlasting beauty 
and dignity than merely to multiply those external advan- 
tages which go to gratify and adorn the body. But she 
was very careful not to denounce or prohibit a single 
pleasure that was really worthy of her regard and atten- 
tion. She was especially earnest in recommending to her 
the cultivation of a taste for the sublime and beautiful in 
nature, and for all those productions of art which evidently 
borrow their effect from this source alone. It was thus 
that she endeavored to share with her the joys which 
she had woven into her own existence, and to render her 
independent of those grosser and more vulgar pleasures 
which are commonly the objects of our deepest anxiety. 

It is only necessary to say, in conclusion, that Agnes 
Russell and Percy Courtland had lived on terms of inti- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


13 


macy from their earliest childhood. Whether the latter 
regarded anything he possessed in the world of greater 
value than the friendship of Agnes was a secret best 
known to himself. It is certain that their acquaintance 
was mutually beneficial. They derived from each other 
much valuable knowledge, and were often found pursuing 
their studies together. 

As we have already hinted, when Percy, at the conclu- 
sion of his morning’s soliloquy, saw Agnes Russell stand- 
ing at a little distance from him, his mind was overwhelmed 
with surprise and confusion. A bewildered gaze was the 
only expression which his countenance indicated at first. 
This was followed by an awkward smile, which might 
have been succeeded by as awkward an apology, had he 
not been anticipated in his attempts to speak by Agnes 
herself. 

“Why, really, Percy,” she exclaimed, “this is capital! 
I long ago knew that you were an admirer of nature, but 
was never before informed that you were her secret wor- 
shiper. And then, to have you moralize in terms so pa- 
thetic and sentimental I But I must confess that was a part 
of the performance I did not like so well. The sentiments 
uttered were indeed true enough, but I admired their truth 
much more than their melancholy. And I am bound to 
say that 1 like this melancholy still less because it was 
uttered on your birthday.” 

After" a pause of a moment or two, Percy seemed 
unable to do more than make the single exclamation, “I 
am afraid, Agnes, you will hereafter really believe me to be 
a sickly sentimentalist I” 

“Not a sickly one, Percy,” said Agnes, “but one who 
takes a sincere interest in that which is lofty, good, and 
beautiful. You surely have no reason to be ashamed of 
feelings like these, and there is much less reason that they 
should occasion you any regret. But methought I heard 
you speak of turning over a new leaf, and beginning some- 
thing like a new journey of life. This was a part of your 
confession which I- must be candid in saying I did not 
exactly understand. Do inform me, Percy, what meaning 
I am to take from it.” 

“ You kno\ypto-day is my birthday,” answered Percy, 
“ and my father has long since resolved on affording both 

2 


14 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


Harry and myself an opportunity of changing our course 
of life, and entering from this time forth on some other 
business or profession, should we feel an inclination to do 
so. Of course, then, I cannot but regard this particular 
crisis as one of great importance to each of us. So far as 
concerns myself, the choice allowed me has already been 
made. In a few days I shall in all probability depart 
from under the paternal roof, and exchange the scenes and 
pleasures of my native home for the employments of a 
more busy world at a distance.’’ 

Agnes Russell was somewhat startled at this sudden 
declaration on the part of her young associate, although it 
might have been difficult for her to give a reason for the 
unexpected tremor that shot through her whole frame- 
But she was prompt in recovering her accustomed firm, 
ness and presence of mind. “ I am not sure that I under- 
stand you,” she replied a moment afterwards. “I had 
long ago supposed that you might possibly leave this 
neighborhood, and the home in which you were born ; but 
I did not believe that you would stray far from the objects 
and scenes to which you have been so long accustomed. 
Tell me, Percy, what you mean by talking of a busy world 
at a distance. Your native State I should suppose would 
be a region of country sufficiently large to bound all your 
views, and to encourage all your projects.” 

“And so it may be,” said Percy, “but that after all 
must abide the result of future consideration and experi- 
ment.” 

“ Our poor Alfred,” replied Agnes thoughtfully, “ sought 
his fortune in a distant land, but his mourning friends have 
had too much occasion to lament the consequences of his 
rashness.” 

“Do not ascribe the conduct of your brother to rash- 
ness,” rejoined Percy, “ since you very well know that 
he was always esteemed for his prudence and forethought, 
and especially by those who had the best opportunity of 
judging his character.” 

“ It is true, Percy,” answered Agnes, “ my brother did 
not appear to want sufficient thought and consideration 
when occasion required it. Perhaps I am wronging the 
memory of one who now seems more precious to me than 
ever. But it is certain that he wandered far from a home 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


15 


that was endeared to him by a thousand tender recollec- 
tions, and was lost.’’ 

“ Yes,” said Percy, “ lost, as it is said, and yet nobody 
can tell how or where. Do you know, Agnes,” he con- 
tinued, “that I have always somewhat doubted the 
authority on which you predicate the belief of your 
brother’s death ?” 

“ Why, surely,” answered Agnes, “ the intelligence we 
received was as precise and certain as could have been 
expected by any person seeking for merely reasonable 
evidence ; and the truth of this intelligence has since most 
sadly been confirmed by his subsequent silence.” 

“ The gentleman who furnished this intelligence,” said 
Percy, “could only judge of the identity of your brother 
from circumstances, all of which I have thought might 
truly exist without proving conclusively that the stranger 
whom he saw die in the manner he describes was in reality 
the person he took him to be. And as to Alfred’s silence 
since that intelligence was received, a thousand events 
might be the cause of this, and yet your brother be as 
certainly alive as you and I feel ourselves to be at the 
present moment.” 

“ Oh, Percy I” exclaimed the agitated girl, “ how much 
would I give for the uncertain hopes which seem to flatter 
your own bosom. But you cannot feel on this subject as 
1 do. My brother is dead, and my mind is conclusively 
made up to this sad reality. Let us cease from conversing 
on a topic which has so terribly afflicted our family. It is 
sufficient to know that Alfred found a watery grave on a 
foreign shore. This mournful event has been the cause 
of a double sorrow. I have reason to believe that my 
poor heart-broken mother followed her child to the spirit 
world merely because she felt how entirely desperate was 
the hope of ever again seeing him in this.” Here Agnes 
buried her face in her hands, and for a few moments con- 
tinued to weep bitterly. 

Percy was young, but was not without a portion of that 
manly feeling which always seeks to relieve the female 
bosom when in distress. His gallantry would have been 
sufficient for this purpose if the object before him had been 
the most distant stranger. But he felt how much he owed 
to one who had been his companion from his earliest child- 


16 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


hood — who was now endeared to him by the tenderest ties 
of friendship — who had a place in his heart which perhaps 
no other being on earth could have filled exactly in the 
same way. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at that 
he should have been deeply affected. He was for a 
moment almost ready to mingle his tears with her own ; 
but it was only for a moment. He rallied immediately 
afterward, and then with a firm voice said : 

“I am sorry, Agnes, that any observations of mine 
should have renewed afresh that feeling of agony which I 
thought to allay by revealing my sincere impressions in 
relation to the circumstances which have caused it. But 
I find the wound is too deep to be healed, even in a very 
slight degree, by any interference of my own. It is better, 
therefore, as you yourself have hinted, that this sorrowful 
subject should be permitted to rest for the present.’^ 

Here our two friends parted, and took their respective 
courses homeward. 


CHAPTER III. 

Before Percy reached the door of his father’s house, 
his ears were assailed by many unaccustomed noises, 
which now seemed to disturb the premises in all possible 
directions. In the barn-yard several urchins were occu- 
pied in dealing destruction among the poultry, whose loud 
shrill cries sometimes came up from the pursuit of the 
chase, and were again renewed when the work of decapi- 
tation was just about to be executed. In the garden two 
or three of the neighboring children had been set to gather- 
ing peas and other vegetables, not without a chattering 
so loud and vociferous as to send its echoes in all direc- 
tions through the opposite woods. The space before the 
old mansion was made vocal by more than one help em- 
ployed in burnishing the pewter and scouring the knives, 
preparatory to the approaching festival ; and the sounds 
from the kitchen gave a still more decided evidence of the 


OR, WFIAT A FARMKR CAN DO. 


n 

bustling operations which were going forward for the same 
purpose. 

VVhen Percy arrived in the rear of his father’s premises, 
and was slowly passing the kitchen door, he heard the 
lively voice of Maggy giving the word of command to a 
troop of busy but somewhat awkward outsiders in a 
manner that, under the circumstances, might have stamped 
on her character the qualities of a genuine heroine. “ Stand 
back there,” she exclaimed to a squad but newly arrived, 
and who were not yet initiated into the service for which 
they had been drummed up from the neighboring farm- 
houses, ‘‘ stand back there, and file off into the cellar. 
Old Nelly Brooks will put you at something, if she is not 
herself too busy to attend to the wants of other folks, that 
will entitle you at least to a share of the fragments after 
the feast is over. And you, Billy Braxton, why do you 
pause there with your hands behind your back, as if you 
were snuffing up an execution instead of celebrating a 
holiday ? Come, sir, tumble round and be busy I” 

“ Busy, indeed !” muttered Billy to himself. ‘‘ A man 
might as well expect to be busy at his own funeral as to 
be busy here, where there is so much noise and extrava- 
gance that it is enough to scare the life out of one. Look 
you, Maggy, what would you have me do amid this ever- 
lasting confusion ?” 

“ Why, I would have you hold your tongue, at least, 
Billy,” said Maggy, or, what is better still, hold this 
basket, while I fill it with crackers for the gentlemen who 
are expected to outwit the dinner bell by getting hungry 
before their time. Funeral, to be sure ! What were you 
grumbling about a funeral, Billy ?” 

“ Why, nothing, I vow and declare,” said the veteran 
loafer soothingly. ‘'But you know. Miss Maggy, that old 
folks are a little tender in their feelings sometimes, and 
can’t so conveniently bear the vexations of life as you who 
are too young yet to know what the vexations of life 
mean.” 

It may be well enough that we should inform our read- 
ers that Maggy could no longer boast of that primal bloom 
the loss of which all females, whether in high or in humble 
life, are no less willing to conceal from themselves than 
from others. Billy Braxton did not seem to be ignorant of 

2 * 


18 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


this acknowledged fact in the history of female experience, 
and therefore with some degree of cunning had moulded 
his expressions to meet the demand on his flattery. His 
language, we have reason to believe, had its intended 
effect on Maggy, who, pleased with the idea of still retain- 
ing the full possession of her early youth, was now moved 
to reply in the following good-natured language : 

“ Why, Billy, you are old, it is true — at least you have an 
old look. But people are good to you (here, put these 
crackers in your pocket, for you may be hungry before 
your turn comes to eat to-day), and you ought to try to 
take the world as easy as possible. Supposing we should 
come to the conclusion, Billy, that you may yet live to 
dance at my wedding 

“Right! you are right! I did not think of that!” ex- 
claimed Billy, with much affected gravity. “ You may 
have it all your own way. I might dance at your wedding, 
and afterward weep at your funeral. Who knows? But 
come what may, I will at least try to be merry to-day.” 

Among the invited guests who on that day feasted at 
Courtland Hall, we must of course reckon Thomas Russell 
and his daughter Agnes. The farmer, as we have already 
mentioned, was the near neighbor and intimate associate 
of Henry Courtland, but his habits and disposition differed 
in many important particulars from those of his more 
thrifty and prosperous host. He had been exposed to 
many domestic afflictions, and had met with several severe 
reverses of fortune in the course of a pretty long life, that 
left their marks somewhat deeply impressed on a temper 
which once had been mild and amiable. His children had 
been taken from him, as we have already intimated, until 
a son and daughter were all that survived. In the midst 
of these difficulties and sorrows his son was induced to 
seek his fortune in California, whence news was soon 
after received of his melancholy loss from a vessel on 
which he had taken his passage to China. This unhappy 
catastrophe was shortly after greatly aggravated to Mr. 
Russell by the death of his wife, whose health gradually 
gave way under the severe bereavements which she had 
been called to encounter in the loss of her children. No 
wonder that he should now become discouraged. But 
in the midsf of his greatest afflictions a light would break 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


19 


round his path when he least expected it, and his friends often 
found him cheerful, and even ^ay, when only a few hours 
before his heart had been writhing in the deepest anguish. 
Thomas Russell was a Christian. 


CHAPTER lY. 

It is not necessary that w^e should give a detailed 
account of the many good things that were said and done, 
of the many sharp appetites that were gratified, or of the 
many personal peculiarities that were presented, on this 
memorable anniversary of Percy Courtlaud’s birthday. 
At the table the utmost harmony and good cheer were 
manifested by all the guests. Percy indeed would every 
now and then seem to relapse into a fit of absence, but 
whenever this took place he was sure to be roused from 
his reverie by the kind interference of Agnes Russell, who 
was placed directly opposite to him at the table, and whose 
playful sarcasm, while it seemed to entertain the guests 
who sat on each side of them, afforded him no opportunity 
of forgetting the respect which was due to the company 
who had honored him with their presence. His brother 
Harry was less thoughtful and far more lively. He took 
great pleasure in seeing that all the young folks were 
richly supplied with the excellent fare that so abundantly 
covered the table, and was especially attentive to the more 
backward class of ladies, both young and old, who were 
too timid or too awkward to help themselves. Mrs. 
Courtland had enough to do to superintend the general 
conduct of the feast, and to see that each dish was properly 
replenished as its contents disappeared from under the 
attacks of her numerous visitors. Agnes Russell seemed 
more intent on entertaining the company with her conver- 
sation than on pleasing her own appetite, and her father 
was in so excellent a humor that, before the feast was 
over, he declared that many infirmities must, somehow or 


20 


HENRY COURT LAND; 


other, have been taken from off his shoulders, as he felt 
himself to be at least ten years younger. 

But Henry Courtland himself, grave as it might have 
been supposed he had grown from age, was the model in- 
structor, if not the animating spirit, of the company. He 
felt himself privileged on this occasion, as on all others, 
to interlard his discourse with some remarks that fell in 
with the peculiar bent of his own genius, and which had 
reference to his favorite ideas on the subject of rural life 
and rural employments. “Now, you will readily compre- 
hend,” said he, addressing himself to his neighbor, Mr. 
Russell, whom he had deferentially placed at his right 
hand, “you will readily comprehend why I regard this 
birthday feast as one of which we have all a right to be 
proud. It is not, you see, my friend Russell, because my 
wife has taken uncommon pains to show her taste and 
skill in spreading it before us, though some credit is un- 
doubtedly due to her on that account, but it arises simply 
from the fact that it is an entertainment got up by a 
substantial yeoman, as a farmer is sometimes called, yet 
one nevertheless sufficiently abundant, and sufficiently 
genteel too, to please a king and his courtiers, if they 
could only learn how to be reasonably satisfied. Now, I 
take it, there are two kinds of feasts in the world, more 
common than any others, but neither of which is the feast 
that I like best. One of them is of the high-pressure order, 
which refines and sublimates everything as if it had fairly 
passed through the chemist’s crucible. Everything is 
melted down to the consistency of a macaroni, with no 
more substance in it than is to be found in the great toe 
of a pheasant. The other is based on the more liberal but 
less expensive principle of eating and growing fat. It 
caters for the vulgar appetite, which is almost always 
greedy, imperious, and insatiable. What it lacks in quality 
it makes up in quantity, and cares but little for the season- 
ing of the cook, so that it can have all that may be obtained 
from the shambles of the butcher. Now, my dear sir, you 
will admit, that in order to do the thing right, there is a 
proper medium to be observed between the two extremes. 
And who is able to hit this medium so well as the genteel 
farmer ? Mind, I say the genteel farmer, because I am sorry 
there are hundreds of families in the country, who have an 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


21 


abundance and too much of the ii^ood things of this world, 
but who have no more idea of what gentility is than a 
mole has of colors. Now such a feast as we have before 
us, I take to be the happy medium between the two ex- 
tremes I have mentioned. Its essential qualities are not 
destroyed either by too much pressure or too much gross- 
ness. It is a repast which every sensible farmer has a 
right to enjoy, because it is neither too expensive for his 
pocket, nor too coarse for his appetite.” 

“ You are a wonderful fellow, my good friend Henry,” 
replied Mr. Hussell, “ for you are not merely satisfied 
with showing off the advantages of a country life com- 
pared with that of a residence in the city, but you must 
needs contend for the superiority of a country dinner over 
that of a fashionable one. Now, confident as you no doubt 
feel in the correctness bf your own opinion, I cannot help 
thinking there may be more than one particular in which 
you are decidedly mistaken.” 

“ How mistaken ?” ejaculated Mr. Courtland. “ Have 
we not equal fruits, superior vegetables, as fine poultry, 
and better beef? And have we not as much skill and 
taste in preparing them for the table ? I tell you, neighbor 
Russell, the advantage is all on our side.” 

“You will admit, ” answered Mr. Russell, “that we 
certainly lack one very important ingredient indispensable 
to the enjoyment of every dinner, if not to its preparation. 
I allude to that feast of reason and flow of soul without 
which, it is acknowledged on all hands, that the most 
sumptuous entertainment can claim for itself no higher 
reputation than a mere vulgar indulgence in eating and 
drinking.” 

“ Rather call it the feast of gluttony and flow of intem- 
perance,” cried Mr. Courtland. “ In nine cases out of ten 
it amounts to nothing more. Now, I would not have this 
spirit to mingle in our country festivities. We could do 
better without it, and might perhaps, on most occasions, 
muster up as much genuine wit and refined argument as 
ordinarily grace the social gatherings of what are con- 
sidered the more enlightened classes of society. I do not 
say, Mr. Russell, that as yet we have reached that point 
of perfection which I myself have in view, and to which I 
hope we are rapidly tending. But it requires for this pur- 


22 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


}30se that we should exercise our wits and assert our rights. 
The talents necessary to a display of this kind have been 
as liberally given to us as to other people, and it only 
remains that we should learn how to cultivate and exercise 
them in order that we may freely taste the full measure of 
enjoyment they are calculated to secure to us.” 

“ There, Percy !” said Agnes Russell, clapping her hands 
with some vehemence, after Mr. Courtland had done speak- 
ing, “you see to what an elevated condition we quiet citi- 
zens of the country are growing ! Not only are the old 
Arcadian scenes of happiness to be revived among us, 
but we are to be favored with a degree of intelligence 
superior to anything that now graces the most refined 
circles of fashionable life. Why, I am almost intoxicated 
with the idea of our future progress. If we continue to 
go on at this rate not alone will our neighbors in the towns 
and cities lying round about us be indebted to the country 
for food and raiment necessary to sustain animal life, but 
we shall in a short time arrive at a degree of learning 
and wisdom so truly excellent that they will apply to us 
too to supply the wants of their mental nourishment. Only 
think on it — the peasantry of a country feeding, as well 
as instructing at the same time the fashionable and gen- 
teel world of our large cities ! Why, really, now, this 
would be a revolution and a conquest that would not only 
turn the world upside down, but I am afraid our own little 
heads into the bargain.” 

“ I must change the subject of conversation now,” 
whispered Henry Courtland to his friend, who had been 
listening to him with deep attention, but with an incredu- 
lous smile all the time beaming from his countenance — “I 
must change the subject of conversation now, or your mis- 
chievous daughter will turn all I have said into perfect 
ridicule.” Then, raising his voice, and addressing his con- 
versation to Miss Russell, who was seated at some distance 
from him, he continued to say, — 

“ Do you know, Agnes, that I have sent for your piano ?” 

“Indeed, Mr. Courtland,” said Agnes, “I was informed 
of no such evil design on your part, nor can I perceive by 
what authority you have undertaken a task for the per- 
formance of which I am sure you never demanded my 
sanction.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


23 


“ As to that,” said Mr. Courtland, I knew you would 
sanction whatever was thought calculated to administer 
pleasure to this joyous assembly. And I was well aware, 
at the same time, that if there was a possibility of your 
objecting to the measure I had in view, so great would be 
the burst of feeling against you, that you would be entirely 
overpowered by the unanimity with which others would 
approve the task I had undertaken. So you see. Miss 
Agnes, the odds are against you, and you are bound to 
surrender at discretion.” 

“ But not without protesting against the means em- 
ployed to overcome me,” answered Agnes. “ Neverthe- 
less, as we have met together to-day to make each other 
happy,” she continued, easting a significant glance of her 
eye on Percy, “it would be a waste of words to pursue 
this subject any further. I yield to the wish of the major- 
ity, if what you have said be their wish in reality, and 
express myself satisfied.” 

Our readers must excuse us from entering any further 
into the pleasantry and humor which distinguished several 
of the guests at this memorable feast. Both young and 
old endeavored to amuse each other, and to render them- 
selves as agreeable as possible. If their wit was not so 
brilliant as at the tables of the lordly and great, it was 
much more innocent, and not unfrequently quite as sur- 
prising and pointed, Good sense and quick discernment 
are not gifts belonging to the highly fashionable and highly 
educated alone. Like the beautiful flowers that cover the 
broad face of nature, it often happens that the choicest 
will be found in places where they are the least expected 
to flourish. 


24 


HENRY GOURTLAND ; 


CHAPTER Y. 

We will now suppose that our guests have retired from 
the table and gone home, after having quaffed some inno- 
cent beverage to the health of Percy Courtland, and wished 
him a long life of prosperity and enjoyment. Mr. Russell 
and his daughter alone remain behind. The latter had 
exerted her best skill to entertain her companions after 
dinner on the piano, and she was now seated at this in- 
strument in a little back parlor, surrounded by Mr. and 
Mrs. Courtland, their two sons, and her own father. 
Agnes had become grave and somewhat serious in her 
manner, and a slight reaction seemed to have taken place 
in the temper of her father. But to a stranger, who might 
accidentally have passed into that little room, they would 
all have appeared like one family group, contented and 
happy under the same peaceful and friendly shelter. 

It is not likely that any of her friends ever heard Agnes 
Russell boast of her proficiency in music, and yet those 
who were best qualified to judge were always willing to 
accord to her great skill in the execution of whatever she 
undertook. She naturally possessed a superior taste and 
discriminating ear for an art in which so few excel ; and, 
although for the most part she selected her simplest per- 
formances when playing before her friends, yet every one 
acquainted with her knew that she was capable of execu- 
ting parts that were much more elevated and difficult. 
But her own inclination often led her to indulge in certain 
favorite airs that were characterized by great simplicity 
and tenderness. On the present occasion she selected one 
of these as a finale to her whole performance, not merely 
because she felt it harmonized with her own temper, but 
because she knew it would touch a chord in the feelings 
of her friend Percy, whose heart at that time she seemed 
to read with much interest. The music she selected was 
that which had been arranged to suit those tender and 
pathetic lines composed by Burns when he contemplated 
leaving his native land, and was bidding a sorrowful fare- 


OR, WHAT A farj/i;r cajv do. 


25 


well to his friends around him. Every tone and word, as 
she warbled forth the beautiful son^^ struck with melan- 
choly effect on the heart of poor Percy. Agnes herself 
was deeply moved by the powers of her own music ; and 
as she closed the performance, and shut up the piano, her 
eyes moistened with tears, which she found it necessary to 
wipe away With her handkerchief. Percy was scarcely 
less affected than his companion. He rose from his seat 
without saying a word, and, laboring under great emotion, 
paced thoughtfully up and down the room. 

“Why, really, Agnes,” exclaimed Mr. Courtland, who 
seemed not to be insensible of the effect her performance 
had produced, “I have often heard of the charms of 
music, and perhaps have sometimes felt its powers on my 
own blunted heart, but I am not sure that I ever before 
witnessed its triumph so completely in the warbling of a 
single song. Come ! come ! this you know is an un- 
seasonable time for tears. We have been somewhat 
merry to-day, and I trust happy ; and this kind of feel- 
ing ought not to be so soon disturbed by the somber music 
of a Scotch song, even if that song should have been com- 
posed by Burns himself. Why, only see ! you have made 
Percy look as blear-eyed as if he had been attending the 
funeral of a fellow student, his nearest and dearest friend. 
Now, let there be an end for the present to this kind of 
witchery. We have something of more importance to 
attend to, that may as well be done at once. Percy,” he 
continued, addressing himself to his son, who by this time 
was again seated quietly at the opposite side of the room, 
“ have you forgotten that this is your birthday, and that 
we have assembled here this afternoon for the purpose of 
attending to some business which very nearly concerns 
your brother and yourself?” 

“ I know it all,” answered Percy, somewhat demurely. 
Then, after a moment’s pause, he repeated the same words 
again — “I know it all, and have attended here in obedi- 
ence to your request, as I believe my brother has likewise, 
in order that we may learn your pleasure concerning the 
business in question.” 

“ It is not every father,” said Mr. Courtland, “ who feels 
a proper care and anxiety for the welfare of his children. 
Too many parents, in considering how their offspring may 

3 


26 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


be best settled in the world, have little regard to anything 
blit their own interest and convenience. Their great ob- 
ject, in most instances, is to initiate them into their own 
business, or into some other pursuit or profession by which 
they will be most likely to acquire wealth and honor. I 
trust, so far as regards myself, that I have not acted from 
such motives as these. My object, my deM children, as 
you know, has always been to fix you ultimately in stations 
where you would be most useful, and consequently most 
happy. It was my desire, indeed, that 3mu should remain 
for some time under the paternal roof, and subject to my 
own control, which has caused both of you, before leaving 
home, to be considerably advanced in life. But during all 
this time, I was not unmindful of the duty which I owed 
you as your father and best earthly friend. I was very 
careful to provide you with such an education as would 
best qualify you for some other employment, should you 
see proper to relinquish the one in which Providence has 
seen fit to place you for the present. Had you not been 
thus instructed, it would have been better to send you 
away from home much earlier, if there had been a desire 
for such a change on your part. But now you may avail 
yourself of the advantages of both knowledge and experi- 
ence. To-day, my children, as you were apprised some 
months ago, I freely give you your choice of selecting a 
business for yourselves. You know what my choice has 
been, and would be, if I had to make it over again. But 
I do not wish you to be influenced by my own preferences. 
I am a farmer, and am somewhat proud of the calling to 
which I have devoted the best energies of my life. Is it 
your wish to continue in the like employment, or would 
}mu prefer exchanging it for some other? You are the 
younger, Harry, and I shall expect an answer from you 
first. There will then be the less danger that your choice 
should be made from anything that might fall from the 
lips of your brother.” 

I have tried to look at the question on all sides,” said 
Harry, “and must confess that I have felt some difficulty 
in coming to a final conclusion. If I had consulted my 
pride merely, I think I would exchange my present busi- 
ness for some other. But if I consider my future happi- 
ness — my bodily health, my moral improvement, my ease 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


27 


of mind, and perhaps my real usefulness in life — I am in- 
clined to believe that I ought to be content with what I have.” 



“ As to the mere question of dignity,” answered his 
father, “I do not think you ought to waste many thoughts 
about it. Consider, my child, what it is that has lowered 
the independent worker of the soil in the estimation of the 
world at large. It cannot be because his position in life 
is meaner, or because the duties he has to perform are 
clumsier and coarser than those of most other men. The 
habits and employments of many of our mechanics are a 
thousand times more vulgar than are those of the farmer. 
Indeed, no other calling or profession in the world sustains 
a more elevated position than his, if we come to regard it 
in its true light. He is the constant associate of Nature, 
and may contemplate her beauty and grandeur in a thou- 
sand forms that are not open to the common observer. He 
has the best opportunity of studying many of the physical 
sciences while he is employed in attending to his daily 
labors in the field. The early history of the world teaches 
us, that the golden age was a period when agricultural 
employments formed the chief study of men, and wh — 
the cultivation of the soil was as much a delight ai 
pleasure as it was a fixed and permanent business.” 

“And yet this same business,” replied Harry, “ is now 
considered by the generality of mankind as highly vulgar, 
if not positively disreputable.” 

“ And why have men been led to entertain notions on 
this subject,” said Mr. Courtland, “so grossly unjust and 
absurd ? It certainly does not proceed so much from the 
business itself as from those who are engaged in it. The 
farmer is despised and neglected not on account of his 
employments, but on account of his ignorance. If he 
would but go to the expense and pains of cultivating his 
own mind (and there is scarcely a class of individuals in 
the community who could do this with the same success 
as himself), it would not be long before he would occupy a 
position in society that would be truly honorable and happy.” 

“Your father is right, Harry,” said Mr. Russell, “and 
a thousand other reasons might be alleged why the farmer 
should maintain so elevated a place in the community, be- 
sides those which have reference merely to his own comfort 
and respectability. I will mention but one of these. He 



28 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


holds a most important relation to the government under 
which he lives. He is called, with singular propriety and 
significance, although not without some flattery on the 
part of demagogues who would use him for their own 
selfish purposes, the bone and sinew of the country. He 
is certainly the very keystone in our own happy land 
which supports the arch of our political prosperity. How 
important, therefore, is it that the farmer should be 
moral, enlightened, and patriotic. It requires but little 
insight into the human mind to see that all our boasted 
rights and privileges, now and hereafter — our political 
wisdom, our political strength, our freedom from religious 
bigotry, in short, our dearest social and individual bless- 
ings — must depend mainly for their health and perma- 
nency on the measure of intelligence and uprightness that 
may be imparted to the free minds of the cultivators of the 
soil. They hold within their hands the destinies of this 
great country, and on their prudence and foresight must 
depend the happiness of millions of human beings yet un- 
born.” 

“Do you hear that, Percy?” observed Agnes Russell, 
with her habitual good-natured pleasantry. “ Do you 
not comprehend that the standard of rural influence is 
rising in the market ? Come I come ! let us take courage 
from the prospect of soon teaching our city neighbors that 
we are not only able to manage the plow and the sickle, 
but that in case of necessity we would be equal to the task 
of swaying over them the scepter of authority too. At 
all events, none shall rule except at our own bidding.” 

The only reply made by Percy to these remarks was an 
incredulous shaking of the head. This was observed by 
his father, who then proceeded to address him as follovrs : 

“ From the remarks made by your brother Harry, 
my son, I infer that he is disposed to remain for the 
present with his parents on the farm, and the great proba- 
bility is that he will dedicate his life to the study and pur- 
suit of agricultural employments. But how will it be 
with you, Percy ? What are your own views in relation 
to thi3 choice of life ?” 

“ I cannot say that they harmonize with those of my 
brother,” said Percy, “nor have I been convinced, from 
the conversation that has just taken place, that it would 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


29 


be best for me to entertain such views. But it is not so 
much that I differ from you because I have no confidence 
in the correctness of your theory, as that I am entirely 
dissatisfied with the slowness of its progress. If the senti- 
ments and feelings of the farmer are to be raised to the 
standard you have mentioned (and I can see no good 
reason why, in the course of human progress, they should 
not be), I would like to see this great change accomplished 
at once. But as I very well know this cannot be expected, 
I would prefer exercising an influence on society in my 
own individual person, rather than wait the remote chance 
of being linked in this endeavor with others.” 

“ I am not sure,” replied Mr. Courtland, “that I under- 
stand your meaning. What influence do you expect to 
exert on the affairs of society anywhere that it is not in 
your power to exercise in your present situation ?” 

“ It is impossible for me to say,” answered Percy, “ how 
much or how little influence I am able to exercise as an 
individual member of society. One thing, however, is 
certain, and that is, that I should like to exert an influence 
somewhere, and for some purpose, which it seems to me I 
am hardly doing under the circumstances by which I am 
now surrounded.” 

“ In other words,” said Mr. Courtland, “ you feel as if 
you were not a personage of sufficient importance while 
acting in the sphere of life in which you have been hitherto 
compelled to move. Now, this is only betraying the ordi- 
nary feelings of discontent that more or less influence all 
of us. Are you sure that your expectations would be 
realized by changing your situation?” 

“I am at least willing to make the experiment,” an- 
swered Percy. 

“ The dangers necessarily attending the experiment you 
seem so anxious to make may be much greater than you 
are aware,” said his father. “The season-of youth is pro- 
verbially ardent and generous, while at the same time it is 
no less fanciful and romantic. The young adventurer is 
as anxious to distinguish himself, and is as sanguine of 
success, as were those ancient knights of whom we read in 
books of chivalry. He is willing to go forth and battle 
with a thousand forms of distress and terror — to overcome 
enchanters and giants — to submit to the extremest priva- 

3 * 


30 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


tions and sufferings — for the sake of his lady-love, without 
indulging for a moment in any other thought respecting the 
result of his labors than that of complete success and vic- 
tory. The world is before him, and he is resolved on win- 
ning for himself its trophies and honors. But every one 
who witnesses his adventures knows full well that he is 
only engaged for the most part in the pursuit of shadows, 
and that in this eager pursuit he is not unfrequently 
wounded, disappointed, and disheartened. The only real 
pleasure that he can expect to enjoy is from the excitement 
itself. The objects to which this excitement is leading 
him too often melt from his grasp into airy nothing.” 

“I believe, father,” said Percy, “that the picture you 
have drawn embodies the mistakes and follies of mankind 
in general. It is just as applicable to a country life as a 
city life. The only difference is, that the shadows in the 
one case are much more brilliant and attractive than in the 
other. If this world is really a world of shadows, let me 
engage in the pursuit of them where they will affect me 
most feelingly. I long to launch my little bark on the 
wide sea of life, if only for the sake of witnessing its up- 
roar and commotion.” 

“It is well,” answered his father, “ although I must con- 
fess that I hardly anticipated a resolution so absolute and 
determined. But it is right, my son, that you should make 
your own choice of life, and I am sure that I shall never 
regret to find in the character of either of my children the 
qualities of firmness and decision.” Then rising from his 
seat, and extending his hand toward Percy, he said, “ God 
bless you, my dear boy! May He overshadow you by his 
wings of love and mercy in this life, and be your sure 
guide to a better life to come !” 


OR, M’llAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


31 


CHAPTER yi. 

The blessing pronounced by Henry Courtland on his 
son was as sincere as the declaration which gave rise to it 
was sudden and unexpected. He was perfectly willing 
that his children, in the choice of a calling, should be 
guided entirely by their own tastes and judgment, after 
listening to what he had to say on the subject, and yet 
when Percy’s resolution was indicated in the manner 
we have seen, it is evident that his father gave but a re- 
luctant assent to the unlooked-for determination. He tried 
to believe that it was all right, especially as the circum- 
stances connected with this determination had been pre- 
viously arranged by himself, — but he was half inclined to 
imagine that the decision itself was premature, perhaps 
unwise, and that it ought hardly to receive the sanction of 
his own better judgment. Our worthy farmer, however, 
was not a man who suffered his mind to be disturbed with 
doubts and regrets about that which could not easily be 
mended, and his countenance soon resumed its wonted 
cheerfulness. Little or nothing further was uttered by 
either of the parties on that occasion so long as they re- 
mained together. In a short time the persons composing 
the circle in the small parlor gradually separated. Aenes 
Russell was one of the last to withdraw. Although better 
prepared than her companions to encounter the views just 
expressed by Percy to his father, she was evidently much 
affected by what had transpired in her presence. She ex- 
erted every effort, therefore, to preserve her usual com- 
posure, and even gave some indications of her habitual 
pleasantry and good humor. 

“My father has gone, Percy,” said she, “and he will ex- 
pect me to accompany him home. I must therefore with- 
draw at once, and leave you with your mother. But 
before you set out in quest of adventures, I hope to be 
permitted to bid you a formal farewell. Your lady-love, 
to whom your father alluded, will certainly have to be 
taken care of, and if I only had the pleasure of her ac- 


32 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


quaintance, I do assure you that while you were engaged 
in breaking a lance in her behalf, I would endeavor to pre- 
vent her from breaking her own heart in behalf of your- 
self. And now good-by, Percy. My father is \vaiting, 
but, as I have said, we will meet again soon, and then 
when you are just deserting your little native homestead 
for the great domain of the world, I will be at your side 
to inspire you with courage, although if I should happen 
to forget myself a little, I may at the s^me time be so 
unmannerly as to call you a fool for your pains.” 

Having uttered these words, this kind, good-natured 
creature glided out of the room with a rapid but silent 
movement, leaving an impression on Percy’s mind as if 
some fairy form had been conjured up to strengthen and 
cheer him under his difficulties, and then had vanished 
away amid the somber light which in some measure seemed 
to cloud his own joyousness. 

Percy and his mother were now left alone. The latter 
was a woman of great merit, although not of showy pre- 
tensions. She was mild, unassuming, and amiable in her 
manners, and her mind seemed to be almost entirely en- 
grossed with the duties of her own household. But she 
was possessed of a sound understanding and a feeling 
heart. Indeed, her sensibility was so great that she per- 
mitted circumstances of a mere external nature, which to 
most others would have appeared but light and trifling, to 
cause her a great deal of internal disquietude. She had 
read a few books with benefit and advantage, but had ac- 
quired most of her knowledge by observation and experi- 
ence in the world. Her great concern in life was for the 
welfare of her children. For the comfort and happiness 
of these when young she had labored day and night, and 
now when they were about to mingle with the world in 
earnest, her anxiety on their account was increased an 
hundredfold. Percy was her favorite child, and on the 
present occasion her mind was deeply affected by the cir- 
cumstances concerning his future course which had just 
disclosed thems(dves. 

As soon as Mr, Courtland, and the rest of the company 
which filled the little parlor, had withdrawn, she com- 
menced speaking to Percy on the subject of his future 
movements. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


33 


“You tell us,” said she, “that you are desirous of 
seeking your fortune in the great active Avorld, but you 
do not say where, or how, or in what direction. Are you 
not too hasty, niy child, in resolving to pursue a course 
which you do not see clearly marked out before you ? 
Would it not be better for you to reconsider a resolution 
which, after all, perhaps, you have taken without sufficient 
deliberation and forethought?” 

“ My intention is fixed, mother,” said he, “ as firmly and 
as certainly as it could be bound to any purpose whatever. 
You mistake me entirely if you suppose the resolution 
to which you allude has been formed either suddenly or 
thoughtlessly. It has entwined itself with ray mind, I do 
assure you, by a slow and painful process. I have thought 
of it by day and by night — while waking and while sleeping 
— in hours of labor and of rest. I may truly say it has 
grown with my growth, and strengthened with my 
strength, for it was made the subject of my study and re- 
flection from the earliest time I can remember.” 

“ So, then,” replied his mother after a short pause, “you 
are resolved on leaving the roof under which you have been 
sheltered — the hearth where you have been warmed and 
nursed — the family circle where you have shared so many 
comforts and enjoyments ? And how soon, my dear child,” 
she continued, “ do you expect to put this resolution into 
effect ?” 

“ Yery shortly,” was the quick reply of Percy. “In a 
few days — in a week — to-morrow, if it were possible.” 

“ But why so hasty, my son ?” said Mrs. Courtland. 
“ Why seek to sunder the family tie, without having given 
us some previous notice of your intention ?” 

“ Alas, mother I” answered Percy, “ it is of but little mo- 
ment to stand about ceremonies of this kind. All separa- 
tions in this world must take place sooner or later, and when 
they do take place, they may all be considered as equally 
sudden. It matters little whether we part to-day, or to- 
morrow, or next day. When the time approaches for our 
doing so, the shock will be the same, whether the hour of 
separation arrives at one period or another.” 

“ But whither are you going, my son?” said Mrs. Court- 
land, “ and what object have you in view in seeking this 
cruel change ? In what way do you expect to better your 
fortune ?” 


34 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


“It is sufficient for me to say,” answered Percy, “that 
I am about to enter on the great journey of life. Hitherto 
I have seemed to tarry in the way rather than to have 
made any progress. But my spirit is impatient of the re- 
straint under which I labor. I have no definite object in 
view, but I would push forward after something for which 
my heart seems to yearn with indescribable eagerness.” 

“ God grant,” his mother exclaimed, “that that something, 
whatever it may be, may be worthy of the wish which thus 
craves to be satisfied ! I see you are determined on your 
course,” she continued, “ and can only, like your father, 
complete the part of a parent’s duty which yet remains to 
be done, by bestowing on you my prayers and my blessing.” 

In the mean time the necessary preparations were care- 
fully but hastily made for his journey, and when these ar- 
rangements were completed, he took an equally brief and 
hurried farewell of his friends. It was remarkable that he 
seemed quite indifferent about exchanging a parting adieu 
with his brother Harry. He indeed bade him a cold and 
formal farewell, but it was not that deep feeling — that af- 
fectionate grasp of the hand and the heart — which it might 
have been supposed he would have sought for on an occa- 
sion so tender and solemn. Not a tear was shed — not a 
faltering accent on the part of Percy betrayed the slightest 
evidence of fraternal emotion and attachment. “Good-by, 
Harry,” were the only words he uttered on the occasion, and 
these were spoken with a half-averted countenance, as if he 
was really ashamed of his own conduct, or felt some strange 
sensations rankling in his bosom, which effectually subdued 
within him every feeling of fraternal love and affection. 

So long as Percy’s mother was engaged in completing 
the necessary arrangements for her son’s departure, she 
seemed to exercise with firmness all the courage and forti- 
tude the trying occasion required, but as soon as Percy had 
turned his back on the home of his childhood and youth, 
she sat down in the little parlor we have already mentioned, 
and wept like a child. “ It is strange,” she said to herself, 
“ that he should appear so distant and so mysterious in his 
movements — that he should appear so cold toward those 
who love him so kindly and affectionately ! God knows 
we have all treated him with the utmost degree of tender- 
ness, and no one about the house ever thought that he was 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


35 


otherwise than contented and happy. But something, 
which it is impossible to guess or understand, has given to 
my poor boy an altered and unusual deportment. Some- 
thing is agitating his heart, on which, perhaps, depends 
much of his future happiness and misery I” 

Just as Mrs. Courtland had concluded this silent kind of 
soliloquy, her further thoughts were interrupted by the en- 
trance of Agnes Russell. It would have been evident to a 
mind less occupied with her own griefs than had been that 
of Mrs. Courtland, that Agnes too had been shedding tears 
of sorrow that morning. But the former took no notice of 
this, and extending her hand to the latter as she entered, 
she could only utter the brief sentence, “ Our poor Percy 
is gone !” 

“ I know it well,” said Agnes, who now attempted to 
rally all her strength, in order that she might not too sen- 
sibly betray the feelings that were agitating her heart. “ I 
know he has gone, but I hope he has not gone far, and that 
it will not be long before he will return again, to cheer the 
hearts of his parents and friends.” 

“ I only wish,” said Mrs. Courtland, “ that such hopes 
as these were comforting my own heart at present. But I 
cannot say with truth that they are. He seems, from some 
cause or other, to have behaved with so much mystery 
lately, that I am utterly at a loss to understand his con- 
duct. Do tell me, Agnes, if I am not making an improper 
request, what were his expressions and deportment at the 
time he took his final leave of you and your father?” 

“ He never came to bid farewell to either of us,” 
answered Agnes. 

“Is it possible!” exclaimed Mrs. Courtland. “Surely 
some unaccountable change has come over the temper of 
my child, or he could not have given occasion to all his 
friends to charge him with coldness and indifference !” 

“ I must confess,” said Agnes, “ that both my father 
and myself were disappointed — perhaps I ought to say were 
hurt — by reason of the neglect with which we seemed to 
be treated by Percy. But we soon remembered that he 
might have reasons for his behavior quite satisfactory to 
himself, and that if we proceeded to condemn him without 
further knowledge of his motives, we might be doing him 
a gross injury and injustice. We were therefore willing to 


36 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


believe that these mysterious circumstances will in due 
time explain themselves, and that however much we may 
repjret their existence now, we shall some day or other per- 
ceive that Percy Courtland at least sanctioned them no 
further than as he believed them to be consistent with the 
most sacred requirements of honor and duty.” 

“You are right! you are right I Agnes!” exclaimed the 
distressed mother. “ My dear Percy would never do any- 
thing that he knew to be at variance wiih the strictest 
principles of integrity and honor. We must wait the slow 
progress of time, in order to become fully assured that all 
is as it should be.” 


CHAPTER YIL 

At this juncture their further conversation was broken 
off by the sudden appearance at the door of a faithful assist- 
ant, named Rowland, whom Mr. Courtland had long re- 
tained on his farm, and who now peered about as if desirous 
of communicating to Mrs. Courtland something which was 
not designed to meet the ears of any other person. Agnes 
seemed to discover his intention at a glance, and immedi- 
ately withdrew to some other part of the premises, as ^he 
was perfectly familiar with every creature and every locality 
about the farm. 

Rowland was a man far advanced in life ; and, although 
he was still capable of doing an ordinary day’s work with- 
out breaking down under the task, it was evident from his 
appearance that he was not much less than sixty-five years 
of age. He was practically acquainted with every duty 
belonging to good husbandry, and was valued by Mr. 
Courtland principally on account of his steady assiduity, 
and the exact punctuality with which he performed his 
work. He had never been married, and -considering that 
he was an old bachelor, enjoyed a more than ordinary 
degree of cheerfulness and good humor. He was a little 
more talkative than men usually are at his age, and some- 
times became troublesome in extending his conversation 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 37 

beyond the reasonable limits his subject required. But 
the worst fault under which he labored was the assurance 
with which, he appeared to utter all his remarks, whether 
founded in truth or error. Rowland, however, was too 
honest to persist for a moment in a known mistake. He 
had acquired some information by observing the manners 
and doings of people around him, and this, together with 
his complete knowledge of agriculture, sometimes made 
him a very agreeable, if not a very useful, companion. 
He was particularly serviceable as a teacher to the boys 
on the farm, and took great delight in instructing them in 
the more obvious principles of their calling, and even in 
some valuable lessons which were not entirely clear to the 
comprehension of their father. It was this person who 
now addressed Mrs. Courtland after Agnes Russell had 
withdrawn. 

“ I am not sure, Madam Courtland,” said this old do- 
mestic, “ that I ought to tell you everything, and yet some- 
how or other it happens that I can’t keep anything from 
you. I am like a child, who is never better contented than 
when he has some little secret to trust to the bosom of his 
mother.” 

^‘It is all right, Rowland,” said Mrs. Courtland cour- 
teously. “ You never, I hope, found me violating the keep- 
ing of one of these secrets where either you or I thought 
it would not be right to do so.” 

“And that is just what I was going to say,” replied 
Rowland. “And now I am come to tell you something 
that 1 saw this morning with my own eyes, and which I 
think you might as well have seen yourself, or which at 
least you have as good a right to know as I have.” 

“ I believe you have been always kind and true to me, 
Rowland,” answered Mrs. Courtland. “ Let me hear at 
once then what it was that you saw with your own eyes, 
and the knowledge of which you seem to wish I should 
share with your own bosom.” 

“Ah me I” said the old man, with a very troubled coun- 
tenance, “ and may be after all I ought not to tell you. It 
concerns the affairs of one that we all used to love and re- 
spect highly, and if I thought it would do him any harm 
now, blow me (this was a favorite expression with Row- 
land) if I think I would utter one syllable about it.” 

4 


38 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


Mrs. Courtland^s excited mind was now roused to its 
utmost pitch of anxiety. 

“ Do tell me, Rowland !’’ she exclaimed, “ and tell me 
at once, what it is that you wish me to know. Speak out, 
man, and do not be afraid.” 

“ Well, then, it was only this, ma’am,” said he, “ and may 
be it don’t amount to much after all. I was down in the 
field this morning, at the eastern end of the farm, and I 
saw from where I stood Percy in the woods, not more 
than fifteen minutes after he had left this happy home of 
his.” 

“ You saw Percy in the woods ?” rejoined Mrs. Court- 
land. ‘‘Well, if that is all you saw, I can’t say that I 
would give you much for your secret. It was quite natu- 
ral that he should be at the very spot where you saw him 
fifteen minutes after he left home. At least, I do not 
think he would have got much farther.” 

“Ah, but I saw something else besides,’’ quickly replied 
Rowland — “ I saw a gentleman drive up to him in a 
buggy, and Percy just handed to him his valise, and then 
seated himself by his side, and they drove off together.” 

“ That makes your story a little more remarkable,” said 
Mrs. Courtland. “ And have you any idea who the gen- 
tleman was ?” asked his interested questioner with eager- 
ness. 

“ Well,” said Rowland, “ I am not sure that I ever saw 
the gentleman more than once before in my life. But 
having seen him once, you know, it was next to impos- 
sible for me to forget him.” 

“Pray, then,” rejoined Mrs. Courtland, “tell me who he 
was. What did he look like ?” 

“Not to give you an impertinent answer,” said Row- 
land, “ I am persuaded he just looked like himself. But 
for your better information, I will say, that he resembled 
the gentleman who some time ago visited the house of Mr. 
Russell, and almost caused the distraction of poor Agnes 
by telling her of the death of her absent brother.” 

“ What ! not Capt. Lamberton ?” inquired Mrs. Court- 
land. 

“ The very same gentleman they called Capt. Lamber- 
ton,” said Rowland, “ or I am telling you an untruth. 
But I had better relate the whole story. On the morning 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


39 


of Percy’s birthday, after he had been out very early 
taking a walk, I saw some person engaged in conversation 
with him just as he was about to enter the house. But as 
I was not able to see the gentleman very plainly from the 
spot where I was standing, it is out of my power to say 
whether he was the same person I saw this morning, or 
whether he might have been somebody else. I think, 
however, there can be no doubt but that he was a stranger 
in this neighborhood.” 

Mrs Courtland did not fail to question Rowland a little 
more closely on the subject of this stranger’s appearance, 
but the above particulars were in substance all that she 
was able to draw out of him. From what he told her, she 
had no doubt that Capt. Lamberton was the person he had 
seen that morning. But whether he saw the same person 
on the morning of Percy’s birthday appeared to her a little 
more uncertain. 

In order to render our narrative perfectly intelligible, it 
may be necessary that we should be a little more particular 
in introducing our readers to the individual whom we have 
just mentioned by the name of Capt. Lamberton. 

This gentleman, who might now be from forty to forty- 
five years of age, had at one period of his life been the 
commander of a small coasting vessel, which traded from 
and to the City of New York. Subsequently, however, 
he relinquished this employment, and at the crisis of the 
fever which prevailed so extensively on the subject of emi- 
grating to the regions of California, he became largely 
concerned in the shipment of goods from New York to 
that country. It was by virtue of his being engaged in 
this department of commerce that Mr. Russell became 
acquainted with him. He was a single man, and had 
made two or three voyages to California, in the necessary 
transaction of his business, occasionally calling at the farm 
of Mr. Russell when a personal interview between them 
was thought to be desirable. It happened in the course 
of these visits that he formed a slight acquaintance with 
Agnes Russell, and was led to notice the intimacy that 
existed between that young lady and Percy Courtland. 
It was on one of these occasions too that he alarmed her 
with a sudden and distinct account of the death of her 
brother, the particulars of which he professed to have re- 


40 


nENRY COURTLAND; 


ceived from an eye-witness to the catastrophe which had 
caused that melancholy event. Although Agnes treated 
Capt. Lamberton with her usual politeness, and even with 
some degree of kindness, yet it was known to herself, as 
well as to others, that she did not regard him as a favor- 
ite. Indeed, she was more than once induced to observe 
to her father, that she never felt perfectly easy in his pres- 
ence. She was at all times willing to discharge toward 
him the rites of hospitality, but when these duties had 
been fulfilled, she felt no disposition whatever to show 
him any other favor, and was always glad when his busi- 
ness with her father terminated, and he was fairly en- 
gaged in retracing his steps to the City of New York. 

As soon as Mrs. Courtland became disengaged from any 
further conversation with Rowland, her first thought was 
to communicate what she had heard to Agnes Russell, 
who was still loitering about the farm, and whom she 
found returning from a friendly visit to Maggy, in the 
kitchen. Agnes was as much surprised and puzzled at 
the disclosure made by Rowland as was Mrs. Courtland 
herself. Neither of them could give the least clew to the 
strange meeting between Percy and Capt. Lamberton as 
described by their informant, and they were at a still 
greater loss to penetrate the mystery that huug over the 
interview at the house. 

“ If ever this matter is made plain,” said Agnes, “ Percy 
will be the first to reveal its truth. There is a possibility 
that he himself may be deceived, but it is utterly impossible 
that he should feel disposed to deceive others.” 

Mrs. Courtland uttered the same opinion in still more 
positive and passionate language. “ My poor boy,” said 
she, “may be the object of some concealed villainy, which 
he may not be able to prevent, and we cannot understand — 
but I am confident he will never prove a villain himself.” 
Mr. Courtland was called to the conference, and expressed 
the same faith in the integrity and uprightness of his son. 
The mysterious circumstances attending his departure he 
could no more comprehend than the rest. Nor was Mr. 
Russell less puzzled in forming a judgment of these strange 
transactions. “ Let them take their course,” he observed. 
“ Our wisest plan will be to bear them with firmness, and 
to wait patiently for their further development.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


41 


CHAPTER YIII. 

One, two, three weeks— a month — had elapsed, from the 
period Percy Courtland had taken leave of his friends at 
Courtland Hall, and yet no tidings had been heard from 
him since. It was strange that nobody had seen him — it 
was stranger still that nobody had received a letter from 
him. 

In the mean time the employments of the farm owned by 
Mr. Courtland were made to proceed in their usual order, 
and with their usual energy. Harry was more than com- 
monly faithful and assiduous in attending to his duties. He 
had made up his mind to become a farmer, and he resolved, 
if possible, to feel for his calling all the respect and enthu- 
siasm which he knew was cherished for it by his father. 
Rowland was no less heartily engaged in superintending 
the affairs which belonged more particularly to his own 
department. As to Mr. Courtland himself, he acted like 
a man who seemed determined, if possible, that the sor- 
rows of life should not disqualify him for its duties. At 
times indeed his mind seemed somewhat oppressed and 
careworn. Even Rowland could not help noticing this, 
and would tell Harry that his father was like one of their 
own overtasked horses, who had become jaded and worried 
in the employments of life, and who required rest and re- 
freshment in order to restore him to his former vigor and 
activity. But Rowland was unable to understand the 
strength and elasticity of that indomitable energy which 
seldom deserted Mr. Courtland, and which, if sometimes 
relaxed, was never in the slightest degree subdued. Often 
would he be seen pausing as if in deep reflection about 
something which gave him pain and uneasiness, but in a 
few seconds afterward he would manifest a determination 
of will, and would draw from his own mind a strength of 
consolation, which soon put everything to rights again. 
On one of these occasions he was seated on a projecting 
rock in the corner of a field, and seemed deeply absorbed 
in the intensity of his own feelings. His son Harry was 

4 * 


42 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


at work at a little distance from him. Suddenly rising 
from his seat, and crossing to the spot where Harry was 
engaged at his labor, he exclaimed : 

“ it won’t do, Harry! it won’t do! Too much thought 
will as certainly wear out the body as too much labor. 
Did you ever reflect, Harry, that it is very wrong to think 
too much ?” 

“Why, I really don’t know,” said Harry. “Perhaps I 
myself think entirely too little, and therefore it is not very 
likely that such an idea as that which you mention ever 
entered my brain.” 

“Well,” said his father, “the truth of what I have just 
intimated to you is nevertheless just as certain as the sun- 
light which 3^ou now see before your eyes. And here is 
another advantage,” he continued, “ to be derived from the 
wholesome prosecution of rural labor. When our minds 
are hurried away by the impetuosity of our feelings, if all 
other things are as they should be — that is, if we have 
learned how to submit with resignation and trust to the 
dispensations of an overruling Providence — it will not be 
hard to correct this impetuosity by merely resorting to our 
habitual diversion of active labor. Our minds cannot, 
without injury, bear to be long on the stretch in relation to 
any particular subject. It is necessary that we should be 
amused by thoughts that are less rigid and unbending, 
and it is for want of this kind of relaxation that thousands 
of noble intellects have been ruined past all remedy. Pro- 
fessional men, merchants, scholars, and sometimes even 
the common mechanic, are in the habit of thinking until 
their very heart-strings crack, and therefore it is no 
wonder that they should in many instances lead wretched 
lives, and in the end be exposed to still more wretched 
deaths.” 

“ Why, there may be too little thought, as well as too 
much,” said Harry, “ and the great secret after all, I sup- 
pose, is to know how to think right.” 

“ Just so,” answered Mr. Courtland. “ 1 am glad, Harry, 
you are profiting by your daily observations of the world, 
as well as my own feeble teaching. You know that from 
your earliest years I have been trying to instruct you in 
the art of thinking correctly, and yet there is room to learn 
something more on this subject every da^^” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


43 


“ But do you believe,” said Harry, “ that it is needful for 
the farmer to think with as much care and exactness as 
other men in the world 

'‘With as much care and exactness!” ejaculated Mr. 
Courtland. “ Ay, and with as much promptness and de- 
termination, too. Nay, he has need of even a greater de- 
gree of both foresight and decision. What, for instance, 
would have been the fate of this very field in which we 
have been working to-day had we not been both careful 
and prompt in preparing it for the seed which it is now 
receiving? Don’t you remember that after the last rain, 
just four weeks ago, you thought we might postpone plow- 
ing it until another rain should fall ? But my better re- 
flection saw the danger that must necessarily attend such 
a resolution. I have been observing the course of the 
weather at this season for the last five or six years, and 
have found that a dry spell uniformly intervenes to hinder 
the operations of the farmer. By our anticipating the time 
of plowing a little this difficulty has been remedied, and 
we may now sow our seed with a reasonable prospect of 
getting a good crop.” 

“ That is exactly what I always tell Harry,” observed 
Rowland, who was standing sufficiently near to overhear 
the conversation that took place between Mr. Courtland 
and his son. “An ounce of prevention, I tell him, is worth 
a pound of cure.” 

“ This maxim is certainly a correct one,” replied Mr. 
Courtland, “ but it is one which many persons find it diffi- 
cult to carry into practice, and is especially hard to be fol- 
lowed by the young and inexperienced.” 

“ If you had carefully closed the bars this morning,” said 
Rowiand, addressing his conversation to Harry, “ Barney 
would not have escaped from the meadow, and you would 
not now have the trouble of going all round the country in 
search of him.” 

“ And had not Tom Cavendish neglected closing the 
door of his foddering-gang last week,” observed Mr. Court- 
land, “ by which means his cattle were suffered to gorge 
themselves from an open feed-chest, he wmuld not have been 
compelled to witness the death of two or three of the best 
cows he ever owned.” 

“Ay, and that loitering fool, Ben Saunter,” remarked 


44 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


Rowland, “lost nearly the whole of his grain during har- 
vest, for want of timely caution in hauling it in from the 
field when it was ready, and securing it from the rain to 
which it was afterward exposed.’’ 

“ Indeed,” said Mr. Courtland, “there is no end to these 
mischiefs arising from sheer carelessness. Our farmers 
sometimes talk of being unfortunate, but I believe their 
disasters quite as often spring fron their being inconsider- 
ate and unwise. And yet most of them are sufficiently 
industrious too — but their industr}’’, unhappily, is not al- 
ways regulated by those sj^stematic rules of order which 
ought to govern all farming operations.” 

“Do you hear that, Harry?” cried Rowland. “Blow 
me if your father is not right, and I know you will agree 
that he is, although you have not always followed his ad- 
vice, nor, for that matter, mine either. But we must live 
and learn, boy, as the Indian said, who undertook to drink 
his broth without first cooling it.” 

“And who poured forth his wisdom, I suppose,” said 
Harry, “ from a scalded mouth, because like me it was 
necessary he should be punished a season or two before he 
could get rid of his ignorance. But I am glad to find, Row- 
land, that you are beginning to think I am not altogether 
an unmanageable scholar. If I have neglected my lessons 
when young, I hope that like some men in the world, much 
greater than I ever expect to be, I may only become the 
more wise and industrious as I grow older.” 

“Precisely so,” answered Rowland. “Take us alto- 
gether, we are like a field of corn, which must be plowed, 
and nursed, and cultivated a good while before it comes to 
perfection, but which is all the better for having undergone 
pretty severe treatment in its first growth. I think, Harry, 
you will admit that I have not neglected to plow a good 
deal around and about you, when I thought it was neces- 
sary to do so ?” 

“ Oh, yes !” returned Harry. “ I will admit it all, and 
am willing to confess, too, you did your work so effect- 
ually that, sometimes, indeed, I thought you were cruelly' 
tearing the very fibers which bound me to the soil, when 
you should only have loosened them a little, and then care- 
fully covered them up again.” 

“ Pshaw, now I” exclaimed Rowland. “ You should not 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


45 


talk so bluntly. Blow me, Harry, if it was not all in- 
tended for your good.” 

“And so,” answered Harry, “I hope it is all going to 
turn out. You will not deny, I trust, Rowland, that I 
am now beginning to shoot up with some little degree of 
promise at least, and perhaps after awhile I may even bear 
a share of fruit which you may consider tolerable, if not 
even respectable.” 

“ Nay, rather say,” exclaimed Rowland, “ which I shall 
consider as rich and abundant as was ever before produced 
by the joint labor of a fond father and a foolish old hireling 
like myself.” 

“ Thank you ! thank you, Rowland !” returned Harry. 
“ I know that I am indebted to both of you, and most, in- 
deed, to him whose care and counsel I am too apt to forget 
and undervalue. I am glad you are teaching me better 
manners, and reminding me of the strong claims my father 
has on my affection and duty.” 

Here the conversation ended. Mr. Courtland was not 
near enough to the parties to understand all that was pass- 
ing between them. But it was evident to both that part 
of their discourse, at least, had not escaped him. This 
they inferred from the fact, that as soon as they had done 
speaking together, he approached a little nearer to where 
they were engaged at their work, and then exchanging 
glances with Rowland, he proceeded to say, — 

“ I was never better pleased with the preparation of a 
field in my life than I am with this. Here is the promise 
of a different kind of produce from that we have been sow- 
ing, not indeed to be expected from the field itself, but, 
what is of greater consequence, and having a much higher 
value, proceeding from the culture of the understanding 
and affections, and generously rewarding you and me, Row- 
land, for the labor we have bestowed upon it. Harry, I 
give you joy of your improvement in the art of agriculture. 
I trust that before long you may become an ornament to 
a profession which I shall expect to have you as zealously 
advocate, as I believe you have freely chosen and espoused 
for your own. But the horn is now summoning us to din- 
ner, and I think we deserve a good one for the faithfulness 
and care with which we have performed our task this 
morning.” 


46 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


CHAPTER IX. 

Soon after this period Agnes Russell was seated in the 
porch of her father’s house thinking over the incidents con- 
nected with Mr. Courtland’s family which had transpired 
during the last four or five months of her existence, and 
which had made a very deep impression on her bosom. 
It was now the month of September, that month which 
seemed to resemble the state of her own mind — warm, ten- 
der, and animated — but at the same time giving some evi- 
dence of losing a portion at least of the full pride and joy- 
ousness of summer, and verging toward the changing* and 
solemn realities of autumn. The sun shone on the trees 
and plants around her with a subdued although not en- 
tirely healthy warmth — the noisy concert of a thousand 
chirping insects made the hills and valleys vocal with music 
— the last flowers of the season were asserting their claims 
to be still worshiped and admired. All this was bright 
and lovely. But every now and then a wild breeze seemed 
to come from the woods which in a considerable degree 
chilled and deadened the warm and brilliant light that was 
collected from the last rays of the season. “ These cold 
winds,” said she to herself, “ may be regarded as the bitter 
blasts of adversity, which so often interfere with our high- 
est hopes and sweetest pleasures. They cast a damp and 
a shadow over the prospects of life, and render us less sat- 
isfied with our present enjoyments. But, after all, why 
should we regret a change which, if not pleasing, seems to 
be necessary to our future happiness ? Why regret that 
which is but the slow transition from summer to winter? 
The cold season has not yet come, and I am still permitted 
to enjoy the warmth and beauty of tlie one lingering around 
me. Let me seize the present moment while I continue to 
have the inclination and the power. And let me not for- 
get that when winter does come, it is to be followed again 
by the bright and beautiful season of spring.” 

At this period of her soliloquy, she was interrupted by 
the sudden appearance of Maggy, who was seen ascend- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


47 


ing the porch from the yard below, carrying in her hands 
an elegant bouquet of flowers, composed apparently of the 
choicest that could be selected. “I have brought you 
this bunch of flowers,’’ said she to Agnes, when she had 
reached the spot where the sorrowful girl was sitting, 
“and I think it is just as pretty, and perhaps will be quite 
as acceptable as anything I could have gathered for you 
this morning at Courtland Hall. I guess you are well ac- 
quainted with the spot in our garden that sheltered and 
nourished them, and with the person who planted them 
there for your sake.” 

“Hist I” said Agnes. “The flowers are pretty indeed, 
and I feel equally thankful to you for them, Maggy, 
whether you selected them from the garden or the field. 
Billy Braxton was kind enough to bestow on me a similar 
favor some weeks ago, which he told me grew on the mar- 
gin of the lake, and which I valued for their beauty 
quite as much, perhaps, as I could be brought to value 
these.” 

“ Well, well!” replied Maggy, “I suppose so. And yet 
if their beauty was equal, I do not see but you might pay 
a little less respect toMhe margin of the lake than to the 
garden at Courtland Hall. May be the preference shown 
to the garden would after all only be natural. But, dear 
me!” she continued, stretching her eye in the direction of 
the beautiful sheet of water about which they had just 
been speaking, “I see two men approaching in a buggy, 
and as sure as I am a living creature, they have left the 
main road, and are making directly toward this very spot. 
Miss Agnes.” 

“They are strangers,' I imagine,” said Agnes, “and 
have some business with my lather. But come, we will 
enter the house, and wait their arrival.” 

So saying, the two females retired from the porch where 
they had been standing, and entered the door of the dwell- 
ing together. 

When the vehicle in which the strangers were seated 
stopped before the main entrance to the building, it was 
discovered that it was drawn by a very stout black horse, 
and seemed to be a conveyance of uncommon strength and 
durability, expressly adapted for hard and incessant travel. 
The two men leaped from their seats at the same time. 


48 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


but one of them with much more ease evidently than the 
other. 

Mr. Russell stood at the door ready to receive them, and 
as soon as they entered the inclosure was surprised to find 
that one of the two strangers was none other than an ac- 
quaintance we have already introduced to our readers, 
namely, Billy Braxton, whose name, as we have seen, had 
been mentioned a few minutes before by Agnes Russell to 
Maggy. The other person was a gentleman apparently 
upwards of fifty years of age, somewhat tall and thin in 
stature, with a sallow complexion, and betraying, by an 
occasional cough, unequivocal symptoms of a weakness, if 
not of an absolute disease, of the lungs. Although the 
weather had just changed from what is called the Indian 
Summer to the mild frosts of autumn, he seemed to be at- 
tired in clothing every way suited to the temperature of 
midwinter. He wore a long blue surtout coat, closely 
buttoned up to his chin, the collar of which was made 
to stand upright, and for greater warmth it was secured 
round his neck by means of a red silk handkerchief. He 
had on his head a traveling cap, and on his feet a pair of 
boots with stout thick soles, like those usually worn by 
laboring men in the coldest and dampest of weather. 
Every other part of his dress, so far as it could be dis- 
covered, seemed to correspond with his outward garments, 
and gave indubitable indications of perfect security against 
the severity of the season. 

As to Billy Braxton, he was no less changed in his ex- 
ternal appearance than the other was remarkable in the 
whole of his personal equipment. It was well known that 
Billy had been missing from the neighborhood ever since 
the departure of Percy Courtland from the dwelling of his 
father. The places at which he had been in the habit of 
appearing with as much regularity as a merchant on 
’Change, seemed now in a great measure deserted, for it 
must be remembered that Billy had not only been a loafer 
himself, but was acknowledged to be a very prominent 
cause of loafing in other people. But what most attracted 
the attention of Mr. Russell, was the decided change 
which had taken place in his gait, as well as in some re- 
markable features of his outward costume. He no longer 
dragged his heels along as if they were fastened to a 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


49 


lengthened chain behind him, but he moved with a brisk- 
ness and alacrity that would have done credit to a much 
younger man. His rusty old coat, which had formerly 
faded from dark green into the yellow tinge of autumn, 
had been exchanged for a short jerkin that fitted close to 
his body, and which was drawn still tighter round him by 
a belt, not unlike those which are sometimes worn by our 
police officers. His pantaloons were so cut as to adhere 
with the same kind of strain to his limbs below, and his 
hat was made of those flexible materials that would ac- 
commodate themselves to any kind of slouch that might 
be most convenient. On the whole, Billy Braxton seemed 
to be, externally at least, an entirely altered and a much 
more active man. 

As soon as he reached the door, followed by his compan- 
ion, who remained a little in the rear, Mr. Russell burst 
forth with the exclamation, “ Why, bless my stars, Billy ! 
is that you ? Come in, sir I come in ! your neighbors have 
missed you for some time past, and thought that you were 
either lost in the lake, or had perished unexpectedly while 
sleeping in the woods, or had met with some other mishap 
that deprived you suddenly of the breath of life. By my 
faith, Billy I I am glad to see you.” 

Billy was certainly not altogether pleased with this 
homely greeting. Erecting himself into a position of as- 
sumed importance, he replied, “ My name is William 
Braxton, and I do not exactly comprehend the allusions 
you are pleased to make to some imaginary incidents of my 
past life. But suffer me to introduce to you my particular 
friend, Mr. Walter Marshfield, of the City of New York. 
He is a gentleman of extensive connections, and an intimate 
associate of Captain Lamberton, from whom I believe he 
brings a letter which will make you still better acquainted 
with the bearer.” 

Mr. Russell bowed politely to the stranger, but not with- 
out feeling some considerable embarrassment caused by 
the changed demeanor and address of Billy Braxton. He, 
however, gave them both a hearty welcome into the house ; 
but during the whole period of this preliminary ceremony 
he was sensible of a degree of confusion and awkwardness 
which, with all his endeavors, he found it almost impossi- 
ble to overcome. He was for some time utterly confounded 

5 


50 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


by the novelty and strangeness of his situation. He would 
look first at one of his visitors, and then at the other, and 
try to comprehend the mysterious circumstances by which 
he was surrounded. Was the stranger, who had just been 
presented to him, a real gentleman, as his appearance 
seemed to indicate ? and was the person who had so pom- 
pously introduced him — who was so brisk in his move- 
ments, so precise in his language, and so consequential in 
the expressions of his countenance — that veritable loafer 
who only a few months before every man, woman, and 
child in the neighborhood knew by the name of Billy Brax- 
ton? These were questions which he found it somewhat 
diflBcult to answer. He seemed for a short interval to 
doubt the evidence of his own senses. He thought it 
possible that he might only be dreaming, or that some 
strange vagary had taken possession of his brain sufficient 
to impair his reason and his judgment. But everything 
else around him appeared as real and as natural as ever. 
And there stood Billy Braxton, transformed indeed in ap- 
pearance, but still exhibiting to his view every feature and 
mark of a countenance and person which, when once 
familiarly known, it seemed impossible ever afterward to 
forget. While he wondered therefore at the remarkable 
change which had taken place in the manners and conduct 
of this marvelous person, he was obliged to own at last 
that, whatever were his new pretensions, he could be none 
other than the same loitering creature who once made out, 
as he supposed, to gain by an assumed cunning what should 
only have been granted to his uprightness and integrity. 

As soon as Mr. Marshfield was seated, he presented the 
letter to Mr. Russell which had already been alluded to 
by Billy Braxton. It was directed to Mr. Russell himself, 
and was found to read as follows : 

“ Mr. Thomas Russell. 

“ Dear Sir, — Permit me to introduce to your acquaintance 
Mr. Walter Marshfield, a gentleman with whom I have 
lived for some time on the most friendly terms. I take 
him to be a man of unquestionable character, in whom you 
may place implicit confidence. He is about to return to 
San Francisco, where, as he has informed me, he learned 
some particulars connected with the fortune of your sou, 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


51 


which you will be glad to receive from his own mouth. It 
would seem that your boy is still living, contrary to infor- 
mation derived from other sources some months ago. 
With my kindest regards to your daughter, believe me to 
be, “Yours very truly, 

“John Lamberton.” 

On the perusal of this brief epistle, Mr. Russell looked 
on the bearer of it with a degree of interest which made 
him forget all his previous sensations, occasioned by the 
mysterious transformation of his old acquaintance Billy 
Braxton. “ Is it possible, Mr. Marshfield,” he exclaimed, 
as soon as he had finished reading the unexpected an- 
nouncement made by Captain Lamberton, “ is it possible, 
my dear sir ? Do you really mean to say that my son is 
still living? What evidence are you able to furnish of 
this important fact ? Where were you made acquainted 
with it ? What reason can you give that you yourself 
have not been deceived ? I am an old man, Mr. Marsh- 
field, and do not myself wish to be imposed upon. But 
stop ! I will call my daughter. Perhaps Agnes will be 
able to see the matter more clearly than I can. Agnes, 
my child ! your presence is wanted for a moment. Here 
is a gentleman who is the bearer of important news. I 
wish you to judge of the truth of it.” 

Marshfield was somewhat surprised to witness the effect 
which the perusal of Captain Lamberton’s note had on 
the mind of Mr. Russell. It seemed difficult for the latter 
to'control the violence of his feelings. He rose from his 
seat — looked earnestly into the face of the person who had 
brought him the news — advanced toward and turned again 
abruptly from Braxton — and then rushed to the adjoining 
room in search of his daughter. Agnes became alarmed at 
the hurried exclamations of her father, and returned with 
him to the parlor with a countenance agitated by expres- 
sions of fear and surprise. Every one present seemed now 
to feel the effect of this sudden excitement. In the con- 
fusion that prevailed Mr. Russell forgot to introduce his 
daughter to the messenger who had presented the note 
from Captain Lamberton. Both parties bowed and faltered 
in each other’s presence, aud even Bill}^ Braxton gazed at 
the scene that was passing before his eyes in stupid 


62 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


wonder. At last, Agnes showed the superiority of her 
own self-possession by calmly inquiring what had given 
rise to so much agitation on the part of her father. 

By this time Mr. Russell himself appeared to have re- 
covered his recollection sufficiently to be able to explain, 
though in a very hurried manner, the cause of his disturb- 
ance. Turning to Agnes, he said, “ Let me introduce you 
to Mr. Marshfield, who is a friend of Captain Lamberton. 
He has brought a letter from the captain which I think 
you will not peruse without feeling an equally deep interest 
with myself in its contents. Here it is. Sit down, my 
daughter, and read it at your leisure.” 

Agnes took the letter from her 'father, and seating her- 
self at one of the windows, began to peruse it. It was 
evident, from the changes depicted in her countenance, 
that she did not perform this task without undergoing, as 
her father had observed, a similar state of feeling with that 
of his own. But she resolved to control, if possible, what 
she had no power to prevent. Folding her hands across 
her breast, and gazing with a steadfast look at the coun- 
tenance of Mr. Marshfield, as if she wished to pierce to 
the very bottom of his thoughts, she calmly remarked, “ It 
would be cruel to tantalize us with hopes, if there was 
nothing real on which these hopes could be founded.” 

“ Yes !” exclaimed her father — “ no greater injury could 
be done to our feelings.” 

“But let us be calm,” she replied, turning to her father, 
“ and Mr. Marshfield, I trust, will tell us all about it. 
Will you have the goodness,” she continued, “to state 
your reasons for believing my brother is still living ?” 

“ That I can do in a very few words,” replied Mr. Marsh- 
field. “ I left San Francisco only a few weeks ago, and 
before that time I was made acquainted with a young 
gentleman who called himself Alfred Russell.” 

“ Did he resemble Agnes ? Did he resemble my 
daughter here ?” interrupted Mr. Russell eagerly. 

“Alas, my friend,” replied the stranger, “ I had but little 
opportunity of scrutinizing the features of his counte- 
nance, for at the time I saw him he was very ill, and lying 
on a sick-bed.” 

At this announcement Agnes looked deeply distressed, 
and her father was about to address his visitor again. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


53 


But Agnes interfered by saying, “Stop, father! let tlie 
gentleman make his statement in his own way. It will 
be time enough to question him afterward.” 

Mr. Marshfield tlien went on to say, that he was acci- 
dentally called on to visit a young man atone of the public 
houses in the City of San Francisco, who called himself 
Alfred Russell, and who mentioned at the same time that 
he had relations living in the State of New York. It was 
owing to this latter circumstance that Mr. Marshfield had 
been requested by a friend of his to call and see him, in 
order, if possible, to discover the relatives of the young 
man on his return home, and apprise them of his sickness. 
He understood from Mr. Russell that he had but a short 
time before returned from sailing on a voyage to China, 
in which country he had been absent from California for 
a number of months.” 

“ Did he inform you of having met with any accident on 
that voyage ?” inquired Agnes. 

“He did not do so himself,” said Mr. Marshfield, “but 
I was told by others that he fell from one of the masts 
immediately after sailing out of the Bay of San Francisco, 
and it was supposed by those who saw it from the shore 
that he was drowned.” 

“ It is our own Alfred, dearest Agnes 1” exclaimed Mr. 
Russell with great emotion. “ It is my own poor boy, 
who is now lying sick, or perhaps is dead and buried, 
among strangers. ” 

Agnes Russell bad much difficulty in restraining her own 
feelings, but she replied with great calmness, — “ Russell 
is by no means an uncommon name, and although Alfred 
is, yet it might easily have happened in talking over the 
circumstances connected with my brother’s voyage that 
the former of these names would have been mentioned 
without the other.” Then turning to Mr. Marshfield, she 
said, — 

“ You stated just now that the visit you made to the 
young man whom you found lying sick at San Francisco 
was mainly intended to lead to a discovery of his friends 
residing in the State of New York. Certainly, then, he 
must have furnished you with some description of his rela- 
tives and family calculated to lead to a successful prose- 
cution of your inquiries.” 

5 * 


54 


HENRY COURTLAED; 


He was about doing so/’ answered Mr. Marshfield, 
“ but I am sorry to say that in making the effort his 
strength failed him, and I was prevented from seeing him 
afterward previous to my embarking in the vessel which 
brought me back to New York.” • 

“And did anybody know him,” said Agnes, “to be 
the same Alfred Russell who some months before had 
fallen from the vessel which sailed from San Francisco to 
China ?” 

“ He was supposed to be the same person,” replied Mr. 
Marshfield, “and indeed I thought at the time there could 
be no doubt about it ; and yet I am unable to say that 
a single individual spoke of the matter as an absolute 
certainty.” 

Agnes cast her eyes on the ground as if lost in deep re- 
flection, and as if still seeking for some more certain clew 
to satisfy the doubts which continued to disturb her mind. 
Then raising her head, as if again prepared to address the 
stranger, her attention was suddenly arrested by a small 
braided chain suspended from his neck, and resting care- 
lessly on his bosom, on which she continued to gaze in- 
tently for several moments. At last she faltered out, as 
if scarcely knowing how to arrive at her purpose, “That 
chain, sir ! may I look but for an instant at the slight 
chain that is hanging from your neck ?” 

“True! very true!” ejaculated Mr. Marshfield, as he 
promptly disengaged the chain from his person, and was 
in the act of handing it over to Miss Russell, “ that chain 
was given to me by the young man, with the remark that 
I should keep it, and that he would tell me more about it 
afterward. But the increase of his bodily weakness pre- 
vented him from saying an3Thing more at that time. I 
kept the chain in my possession, and as I did not see the 
owner subsequently, I of course had no opportunity of re- 
storing it to him 

The moment Miss Russell took the braided ornament in 
her hand, it required no further evidence to convince her 
that her brother was still living, or at least that he had 
been living at the time Mr. Marshfield saw him lying at 
the hotel in San Francisco. 

“ It is enough !” she exclaimed — “ this trinket is the best 
evidence I could have of my brother’s identity. It was 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


55 


woven by my own hands, and presented to him on the 
day of his departure from home. I would know it among 
a thousand others that might be made to resemble it. But 
what is to be done now ? My brother is poor — is sick — 
is among strangers — and is in a country where the com- 
mon courtesies of life must fail for want of female sympathy 
and attention. The privations to which he must neces- 
sarily be exposed will of themselves kill him, even if he 
should have physical strength enough to triumph over his 
malady. ” 


CHAPTER X. 

The reader will have noticed that during the whole of 
this interview between Agnes Russell and Mr. Marshfield 
Billy Braxton did not for a single moment undertake to 
meddle with anything that Avas going on. He remained - 
in the background, and although Agnes had known him 
for many years as familiarly as she knew the nearest of her 
neighbors, yet, owing to the awkward manner in which she 
had made her entrance into the apartment where they were 
noAV assembled, and the remarkable transformation that 
had taken place in the dress and appearance of her friend 
Billy, not the slightest recognition had as yet taken place 
between them. But as soon as Agnes had uttered the 
words Ave have recorded above he rose from his seat, ad- 
vanced two or three steps across the floor, and, bowing 
politely to her rather as a new acquaintance than as an 
old neighbor, he proceeded to address her in the following 
language : 

“ I believe Miss Russell scarcely remembers her former 
acquaintance, William Braxton, although but a few months 
have passed over our heads since, we knew each other just 
as well as two calves that have been reared in the same 
field.” 

The remark of Billy was unfortunate, at least unfortu- 
nate for his own equanimity of feeling — for it was out of 
the power of grief itself to lull that sarcastic humor Avhich 
was a prominent feature in the character of Miss Russell. 


56 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


On the present occasion it was something like the ruling 
passion, strong in the very fear of death. Looking him 
gravely in the face, and making a slight obeisance in return 
for his own profound civility, with a lurking mischief 
seated in the corner of her eyes, she promptly replied, — 

“If you, sir, are really the Billy Braxton I once knew, 
you will readily guess the reason why I have been slow 
in recognizing my former acquaintance, for, according to 
your own showing, you have certainly grown to be a 
greater calf than I ever remember you to have been 
before.’’ 

Billy blushed to the very eyes, but like a skillful tac- 
tician, or rather like a cunning diplomatist, he very well 
knew that it was altogether necessary he should appear to 
regard his own blunders with stoical indifference. Marsh- 
field looked as if he would have been pleased with the joke, 
only that it fell on one who was traveling with him as 
his associate and companion, and in whose disgrace he 
was necessarily somewhat involved. This, too, made it 
more difficult for Billy to preserve his assumed temper 
and dignity, which after all might have been seriously 
damaged in the conflict, had not Mr. Russell, at this 
critical moment, come to his relief, by acknowledging 
before his daughter his own carelessness and oversight. 

“ 1 forgot, my dear,” said he, “ to call your attention to 
the presence of our former friend and neighbor, Mr. Brax- 
ton. He is traveling in company with Mr. Marshfield, 
and seems to be wonderfully changed since we last had 
the pleasure of seeing him.” 

When this declaration was made to Agnes Russell by 
her father, much as she delighted to rebuke the presump- 
tion of impudence, she could not help feeling some degree 
of uneasiness from what had just taken place. She saw 
nothing in the conduct and appearance of Mr. Marshfield 
but what accorded with the character of a gentleman. 
Braxton himself had become so changed in her own eyes, 
as well as in the eyes of her father, as to appear a de- 
cidedly different being from what they knew him to be 
only a few months before. The conversation with Mr. 
Marshfield on the subject of her brother’s illness in its 
very nature had been grave and serious, and she almost 
regretted that she should have suffered this conversation 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


57 


to be interrupted by what might seem to be an unseason- 
able levity on her part. The truth is that her heart, during 
all that had just passed, however she continued to conceal 
it from others, was full of tenderness and grief for her 
brother, and she listened with more gravity and attention 
to the remarks of Billy Braxton, when he renewed the 
conversation in the following terms : 

“I have been so long acquainted with your pleasantry 
and good nature. Miss Agnes, that I shall not seek to find 
fault with them on the present occasion. But you will 
agree with me, I believe, that we now have matters of a 
more serious and weighty nature to attend to. You have 
read the note addressed to your father by Captain Lam- 
berton, and you have listened to the statement made by 
Mr. Marshfield. From these sources, you may gather at 
least that your brother is poor, is sick, and is perhaps lan- 
guishing among strangers in a strange land, without one 
nursing friend or sympathizing heart to comfort him under 
his sorrows. I knew your brother once, and loved him 
dearly — not indeed as you have loved him, but with suffi- 
cient warmth and tenderness to second your own wish, 
that his wants ought to be attended to.” 

When Billy Braxton had pronounced these words, Agnes 
Bussell could not but feel perfectly astonished. She looked 
at him again to assure herself that he was the same person 
who had been so recently regarded as little more than a 
genteel vagabond by the whole neighborhood. She could 
hardly persuade herself that a man who was once so trifling 
in his manners, so light in his conversation, and so useless 
to his fellow-mortals around him, should all at once assume 
to her the character of a gentleman, a counselor, and a 
friend. But she was mortified at the same time to think 
that he should believe it to be possible that she could in 
the slightest degree have forgotten the love and attach- 
ment she owed to her only brother. All this passed 
through her mind with the rapidity of lightning, and as 
soon as Braxton had done speaking, she replied with the 
greatest degree of warmth : 

“Yes! my brother ought to be looked to. But how is 
this task to be performed ? and who among us all is able 
to undertake it? I myself am a poor weak girl, helpless, 
almost friendless, and without the means necessary for such 


58 


HENRY COURT!. AND; 


an undertaking. I am the only remaining member here 
of an afflicted family — the only frail prop of an aged parent 
— and how, then, is relief to be sent with means so inade- 
quate, and to a country so distant and so expensive?” 

It is to consider these difficulties, and to surmount 
them if possible,” said Braxton, “ that Mr. Marshfield and 
myself have been induced to wait on you on the present 
occasion. For this, too, we have the sanction of Captain 
Lamberton, who professes to feel a deep interest in the 
happiness and future welfare of your brother.” 

Agnee felt a little embarrassed at this declaration, and then 
answered, “I can scarcely imagine why Captain Lamber- 
ton should feel much interest in any event connected with 
the welfare of either my brother or our family. I think 
while here he was acquainted with Alfred but slightly, but 
perhaps may have cultivated a more intimate acquaintance 
with him afterward in California. However this may be, 
I am bound to feel under obligations to him for any in- 
terest manifested by him in our behalf. But how can his 
influence, or the influence of anybody else, be exercised 
for our relief? The great want of my brother at present, 
in all probability, is, the timely interference of female ten- 
derness to nurse and take care of him. But it may be 
already too late to render him this service, and even if 
that should not be the case, where could this service be 
procured ? Who will undertake the hazardous experi- 
ment of sailing to California, and of meeting a thousand 
dangers for his relief?” 

“ Surely,” replied Braxton, none could be induced to 
do that but yourself!” 

“Alas!” cried Agnes, “ why distress me with a project 
so hopeless and impracticable ? However much I may 
love my brother (and I think I love him with all the 
sisterly affection that could warm and animate the heart 
of any woman), yet I lack the courage, the energy, the 
heroism, necessary to undertake a task of so much diffi- 
culty !” 

“ Such may be your own impressions,” said Braxton, 
“but those who know you best feel themselves fully war- 
ranted in entertaining a different opinion. To overcome 
obstacles that appear insurmountable is characteristic of 
female strength and resolution. Of these virtues you pos- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


59 


sess a sufficient share to enter without fear or hesitation 
on the enterprise. My attachment to your brother in- 
duces me to urge you to the undertaking, and 1 h^ve 
brought to your assistance a g’entieman of high honor and 
respectability, who expects to sail again in a few days for 
the city where he formerly left your brother, and who will 
become your companion and guide on your voyage to 
California, if you but condescend to place yourself under 
his protection.” 

This appeal, made under the circumstances we have nar- 
rated by a man who only a few weeks or a few months before 
had been regarded as a mere cipher and blank in society, 
but who now spoke with a force and earnestness which had 
a powerful effect on the mind of Agnes, was as novel as it 
was sudden and unexpected. She could not but feel the 
full effect of the strange situation in which she found her- 
self so wonderfully placed. For a moment she was ab- 
solutely bewildered, and yet somehow or other she felt 
disposed to put implicit confidence in the sincerity of the 
speaker, and to regard every word as true that he had 
uttered in her presence. Without speaking a syllable, she 
first looked at Mr. Marshfield, then at her father, then at 
Braxton, and then at Mr. Marshfield again. This latter 
gentleman seemed to realize in his own mind the perplex- 
ity under which she labored; and, in order to confirm what 
had just been said to her by Braxton, and to make her 
sensible of his own views on a subject which interested 
her so much, he proceeded to address her as follows : 

“1 cannot but concur, Miss Russell, in the observations 
made to you by Mr. Braxton. I have reason to believe, 
from information received through Captain Lamberton and 
others, that you possess the necessary qualifications for 
the task which they would seem to have assigned you. 
So far as regards myself, I can only say that my knowl- 
edge of the people and manners of the country where 
your brother is at present lying sick, gives me but little 
hope to expect that he will receive much nursing or atten- 
tion, unless it can be rendered to him by his own friends 
and relations. Owing to the great want of female society 
in San Francisco, it must necessarily happen that much 
suffering is endured in cases of sickness on account of the 
absence of female tenderness and assiduity. I myself am 


60 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


an old bachelor, and indeed an invalid, but I flatter myself 
that I am a gentleman, and that I am still possessed of 
sufficient physical strength to take care of any young lady 
who may see proper to place herself, for an object like that 
you have in view, under my protection.” 

At the conclusion of this address Agnes cast another 
look at her father, a look of solicitation and anxiety, yet 
blended with a smile of benevolence that streamed like a 
rainbow of promise through her tears. The father was 
not slow in comprehending the appeal which she seemed 
to be making to his own judgment and approval. 

I can hardly tell, my child,” he proceeded to say after 
a moment’s pause, “ with what sensations I ought to view 
a subject that has been started before us so suddenly, and 
the consideration of which would seem so deeply to con- 
cern your own happiness and safety. God knows that I 
entertain a warm and parental affection for your brother, 
but it seems hard — I was almost going to say cruel — that 
I should be compelled to seek for the preservation of one 
of my children at the imminent danger of sacrificing the 
other. Like it sometimes happens to a gallant friend, 
who attempts to rescue his companion from a watery 
grave by plunging into the stream himself, both may be 
lost in the hazardous struggle that is to ensue. The pos- 
sibility of such a catastrophe I can hardly bear for a 
moment to contemplate. It would be the final consum- 
mation of that sorrowful bereavement which has so long 
pursued our unhappy family. It would be the signal for 
hewing down my own shattered and decayed trunk, after 
the branches have been driven by the tempest to the four 
winds of heaven.’’ 

“And yet, my father !” exclaimed the heroic girl, “ if the 
mission should be a successful one — if the struggle should 
end in triumph and deliverance — what a noble cause for 
congratulation would remain to us all, and how calmly 
might we sink at last when it should be the will of Heaven 
to absorb us into the ocean of eternity I” 

“ True I true 1” ejaculated her father. “ You are right, 
my daughter ! Your piety and courage are greater than 
my own. There is a mightier arm than ours, in which 
we should never cease to trust. I all at once feel as if I 
saw this arm outstretched for our deliverance. At least 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


61 


something seems to inspire me with a confidence and hope 
I was insensible of before. The Great Ruler of the uni- 
verse will not forsake the humblest of his creatures who 
put their trust in him, and you shall be his good angel 
to perform his benevolent purpose on the present occa- 
sion ” 

^ It is unnecessary that we should follow up the further 
discussion which took place in regard to this important 
subject. We have only room to mention here, that it was 
finally arranged Agnes should place herself under the 
protection of Mr. Marshfield, and make a speedy embarka- 
tion in the same vessel with him for California. But this 
arrangement was not made without some feelings of a 
peculiar nature experienced at the same time both by 
Agnes and her father. They had no knowledge of the 
stranger who was to act as her conductor and friend, other 
than that they derived from the one single interview which 
took place on the occasion we have just related, and in 
which Billy Braxton acted such a conspicuous as well as 
mysterious part. This latter individual had become a 
perfect riddle to them. In all his professions he seemed 
to perform his part with the utmost dignity, openness, and 
sincerity : but it was the display of these very qualities, 
so foreign to everything they had ever before witnessed 
in his conduct — so contrary to everything they had reason 
to expect — that made his case the more inexplicable and 
perplexing. Nor were they much better informed in 
respect to the relation in which he stood toward Mr. 
Marshfield and Captain Lamberton. They inferred he 
was, somehow or other, in the service of the latter gen- 
tleman, but in what way employed, and for what pur- 
pose, they had no means of judging. They learned like- 
wise that some business transactions were being carried 
on between the captain and Mr. Marshfield, but the exact 
nature and extent of these transactions it was impossible 
for them to ascertain. N oth withstanding all this, however, 
they were strongly led to commit their hopes and inqui- 
ries in relation to Alfred Russell entirely to this stranger, 
and it was at last concluded that Agnes should meet him 
in the City of New York in a few days afterward, and 
should sail with him thence to that far distant land of gold, 
whose shores are washed bv the Pacific Ocean. 

“6 


62 


HENRY GOURTLAND; 


CHAPTER* XL 

During the period that was yet to elapse until Agnes 
should take leave of her friends, she was diligently 
employed in making such arrangements as she thought 
the occasion required. It was now the season of autumn, 
and her great hope was tliat she might be able to reach 
home again by the following spring. Her principal con- 
cern was of course on account of her father, whom she 
tried to persuade to become an inmate in the Courtland 
family until her return, but who preferred, with a single 
domestic, to occupy his own dwelling. Here,” said he 
to his daughter, “ I shall have more time for reading, more 
opportunities for labor, and more hours for meditation. 
When I am tired of one employment I can resort to 
another, and I will thus be able to regulate my pursuits 
so as to be neither too idle nor too busy. I am anxious 
during your absence to avoid both these extremes. 
Should anything happen, so as to require the interference 
of my neighbors, they are not far off, and could soon be 
called to my assistance.” Although Agnes could hardly 
be persuaded of the correctness of these views, yet she 
cheerfully agreed that it would be proper for him to consult 
his happiness in his own way. 

Another arrangement, which indeed did not originate 
with herself, but which she slowly fell in with when sug- 
gested to her by her friends, arose from what was said to 
be the want of some female attendant, who would be will- 
ing to become her companion during the time she should 
be employed in accomplishing the object of her perilous 
mission. The idea of seeking for such a companion was 
suggested to her by Mrs. Courtland. Agnes was insisting 
on her own courage and fortitude as being sufficient to 
serve her under circumstances of the most trying difficulty. 
No other persons were present but themselves and Maggy, 
who has already been more than once introduced to our 
readers, and who on this occasion appeared to be busily 
employed in attending to her domestic duties. “ You shall 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


03 


not go alone,’’ said Mrs. Courtland. “Yon must look out 
for some one who will agree to serve you as an assistant 
and companion, and who will stand by you in case of 
danger. You might be insulted and murdered without a 
witness.” 

“ Pshaw !” replied Agnes, “I can see no good reason 
for such a companion. I have long depended on my own 
wits for defense and protection, have spent many hours, 
both abroad and at home, without any other support than 
my own courage and self-possession, and under the most 
alarming circumstances have always found these suflBcient 
for my purpose. Have I not scoured the lake alone in a 
boat when there were signs of an approaching tempest, 
and shot a wild cat with the first weapon I could pick up 
in the house, when there was no person perhaps but 
myself within sound of the report of my rifle ?” 

“Nay, but,” said Mrs. Courtland, “scouring lakes and 
shooting wild cats, in the peopled regions of America, may 
be much easier, and much safer too, than defeating the 
snares and braving the insults of unprincipled men in the 
wilds of California. I tell you, my child, it is just as 
necessary for you to be accompanied by a female com- 
panion for your better comfort and security, as it is for 
you to have clothing and food for your ordinary warmth 
and existence.” 

“Well, supposing it to be so,” answered Agnes, “how 
is this want to be supplied? I never could think of per- 
suading, either by flattery or temptation, any creature of 
my own sex to accompany me, and it would be difficult, 1 
imagine, to find a person who would at once be willing to 
brave the perils and hardships which would be insepara- 
ble from such an undertaking. Ordinary servant-girls 
could hardly be expected to possess minds either romantic 
or noble enough to fit them for such a purpose.” 

“I see the difficulty as you do, my dear Agnes,” cried 
Mrs. Courtland, “and I have seen it all along. But you 
must not and cannot go alone.” 

“Either I must do that,” exclaimed Agnes, “or stay at 
home. There is no female in this neighborhood, or per- 
haps in any other neighborhood around us, who could be 
expected to peril her life, her health, and her peace of 
mind, for my sake.” 


64 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


At that moment Maggy, who had all along remained in 
a stooping position employed on some menial service in 
one corner of the room, straightened herself up to an erect 
posture, and, resting her hand deliberately on the back of 
a chair that stood next to her, observed, “ I am sure. Miss 
Agnes, that I love you, although it may be that you do 
not think so.’’ 

“Why, my poor, kind girl,” answered Agnes, “I am 
sure too that I never doubted your love for me, and for 
all who have belonged to our family. But why is it that 
you are pleased to make such a remark. at present?” 

“ Because I feel as if I could fill the station,” said 
Maggy,. “ which you seem to think it would be so difficult 
to have filled by persons like myself. Have you not often 
told me that poor uneducated girls have understandings 
and feelings like other people, and that all we wanted was 
to think a little in order to see things just as you see 
them ? Well, now. Miss Agnes, I have been running this 
matter over in my own mind ever since Mrs. Courtland 
commenced talking to you about it in this room, and I 
agree with her that it would be a crying shame to let you 
go away alone, without a single being to befriend you in 
case of insult or accident. I don’t know that there is much 
in me. Miss Agnes, that is either noble or romantic, but 
I believe I understand the difference betwixt right and 
wrong, and that I could stand up in my own defense, and 
in the defense of others too, if any wicked person should 
attempt to offer us an injury. Only get the consent of 
Mrs. Courtland, and I am sure that I would as cheerfully 
and as freely follow you to the end of the world, as I 
would my own mother if she was here on this spot asking 
me to do so.” 

“ Excellent! By all that we could hope, most excellent!” 
exclaimed Agnes, running toward Maggy, and imprinting 
a hearty kiss on her forehead. “ That kiss seals you as 
my faithful and trusty companion, worthy to follow a far 
more gracious and noble lady. Why, Maggy, if I were 
the most princely adventurer in all Christendom, I should 
want no braver or more devoted follower than yourself.” 

“ As to that,” answered Maggy, “I am not sure that I 
know much about devotion or bravery, but I think 1 know 
how to scorn a fool and to manage a rogue. But all this 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


65 


time you forget that my will is not exactly my own, and 
that Mrs. Courtland has something to say about an ar- 
rangement that may deprive her of my services for a twelve 
months to come.” 

“ Oh, that may be readily remedied,” cried Agnes. “ It 
will be very easy, I am sure, to procure for her a substi- 
tute, — far easier than it would be to fill your place for me, 
should you now see fit to withdraw the offer of your 
services.” 

“ Agnes has just remarked,” answered Mrs. Courtland, 
‘‘what I was going to say myself. Your own will is all 
that is necessary to complete the arrangement. Not only 
do I give my hearty consent to the measure, but you shall 
have my praise and thanks into the bargain.” 

This declaration on the part of Mrs. Courtland was 
sutficient to effect the purpose which Maggy had so much 
at heart, but which she thought proper to refer to her 
whose approbation she considered it her duty first to ob- 
tain. In a few days every necessary preparation for the 
departure of Agnes was fully completed. Harry Court- 
land undertook to convey her and her companion to the 
City of New York and to see her fairly embarked for that 
country which had become an object of so much interest 
to thousands of people in all parts of the world. 

It may easily be conceived that Agnes took leave of her 
friends with a heart full of tenderness and feeling, but at 
the same time we are bound to say with a heroism and 
fortitude that only raised her the more highly in their es- 
teem, and which were peculiarly her own. Her greatest 
trial of course was in parting with her father. She faltered 
— she hesitated — she summoned to her aid, again and 
again, that resolution which had never before deserted her 
under the most painful circumstances, — but she still found 
her strength insufficient for the sorrowful occasion. At 
last she sought consolation in that sure refuge which she 
knew would in like manner be her father’s greatest support. 
She told liim she was convinced of the presence of an un- 
seen hand, whose guidance she hoped would crown her 
efforts with success. Both cheerfully left the result to 
that agency which they were persuaded, however it might 
appear to short-sighted mortals, was always exercised for 
good and not for evil. 

G* 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


From her friends in general, as we have said, she found 
it less difficult to part. So far from appearing cheerless 
and discouraged, she manifested a degree of pleasantry in 
her discourse that harmonized admirably with her temper 
and disposition. “I am going,” said she, “to a land of 
dreams and fancies — to a community of people who expect 
to dig their fortunes out of the bowels of the earth. 
Should I unhappily fail in the object I have in view, and 
be regarded by these people as a weak and visionary girl, 
I will at least have the advantage of turning the tables on 
them by pointing to their own folly. I will revenge 
myself by preaching a crusade to them against gold 
digging.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

No incident of extraordinary magnitude transpired dur- 
ing their journey to the City of New York. They pur- 
sued their journey quietly and pleasantly on the first day, 
until at the hour of noon they sought for rest and refresh- 
ment at a public inn on the roadside. 

At the moment our travelers had stopped for this pur- 
pose, and Harry was in the act of handing Agnes and her 
companion out of the carriage, a horseman, carefully muf- 
fled up in a comfortable overcoat, which seemed almost 
too heavy for the state of the weather, but which never- 
theless was buttoned closeh’’ up to his very chin, passed at 
a little distance on the other side. Neither Harry nor 
Agnes seemed to notice the stranger as he trotted along 
on his journey, and so far as regards themselves they 
would have suffered him to pass without making a single 
remark. But having been shown by the landlord into a 
lower apartment of the inn, Maggy ran to a window at 
the other end of the room, which looked out on the road 
in the direction the traveler was taking, and eyeing him 
intently as he rode hastily forward, she declared that she 
knew him, to use her own language, just as well as she 
knew her own face in the looking-glass. “That,” said she 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 6^ 

emphatically, “is Billy Braxton, or no such person as 
Billy Braxton ever lived in the neighborhood of Court- 
land Hall.” 

Agnes looked after the stranger, and so did Harry, but 
as by this time the distance had become so great as to 
afford them a very imperfect view of his person, they were 
unable to speak with any reasonable certainty of its iden- 
tity. Agnes thought if there was a resemblance it was 
more in his manner of riding than in anything else. Harry 
declared that he could perceive no resemblance whatever, 
and that he believed the likeness was altogether wanting 
except in Maggy’s own imagination. As the odds were 
against Maggy, and the question raised seemed to rest 
on evidence that was fanciful and uncertain, the discussion 
of the subject was soon dropped, and in a short time the 
supposed appearance of Billy Braxton seemed to be en- 
tirely forgotten. 

After dinner our travelers resumed their journey, — 
stopped at an inn in the evening, and bespoke lodgings 
for the night. They all slept soundly, and the next morn- 
ing were ready to start again on their journey. 

Before leaving the inn, Harry commenced interrogating 
the landlord on the subject of the public houses along the 
road, requesting to be pointed to one that would afford 
them the best accommodations for dining at noon. 

“As to that,” said the landlord, “ I am not so sure that 
I am able to answer your questions. But stop, here comes 
a gentleman who will put you all right. Ask him, since 
he is as well acquainted with the road, and the people who 
live on it, as I am with the furniture of my own bar-room.” 

Harry looked behind him, and was surprised to see ap- 
proaching at the same hurried gait we have already men- 
tioned, the identical person whom Maggy had the day 
before pronounced to be Billy Braxton. They all watched 
his approach with intense curiosity, a circumstance that 
did not seem to escape the observation of the traveler. 
There was a large open space in front of the tavern-house, 
which extended some distance across the main road. As 
soon as he had advanced to a line- parallel with this open- 
ing, his horse was noticed to make a circuit in a direction 
opposite to the spot from which his motions were w^atched 
by Harry and bis companions, until he had advanced suffi- 


68 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


ciently far to elude their scrutiny, and again felt at liberty 
to resume his position on the public highway. 

“ I tliink we shall not learn much from that gentleman,” 
said Harry, as soon as he was made sensible of the stran- 
ger’s eagerness to pass without recognition or disturbance. 

But pray, Mr. Landlord,” he continued, ‘‘ do tell me what 
kind of a person he may be who has just vanished from our 
sight with such a strange show of mystery about him. 
Who is he, and what is his business in this neighbor- 
hood ?” 

“Indeed, that’s beyond my ability to tell,” replied the 
landlord. “ Nevertheless, I must own that I always found 
him to be more civil than his behavior would seem to indi- 
cate this morning. It is only of late that he has com- 
menced visiting these parts, and whenever he makes his 
appearance, although he is always gentlemanly and polite 
in his manners, he is sure to act like a man whose business 
requires him to move with the speed of a race-horse.” 

Harry addressed no further questions to his obsequious 
but wary landlord. Trusting to his own sagacity, there- 
fore, for the discovery of a convenient inn on the road, 
and bidding his landlord a kind good-morning, they all 
got into the carriage which was waiting at the door, and 
he drove off without further remark or conversation. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

As soon as our travelers had parted from their obliging 
host, the question was again raised in regard to the ap- 
pearance and conduct of the strange-looking horseman. 
“ I tell you,” said Maggy, “ it is my old friend Billy Brax- 
ton, as sure as he carried a head on his shoulders. Did 
you not mind his long spindle-shaped arms, his great 
broad back, and the crook at the end of his nose ? This 
last he attempted to hide by turning his head, and indeed 
his whole body, when he tried to escape from us at the 
tavern-house : but I got a full peep at it in spite of all his 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


69 


manoeuvres. I am sure I could tell Billy Braxton’s nose 
from a thousand.” 

I do not think,” replied Agnes, “that we ought to be 
so sure of Billy Braxton’s nose, Maggy, since we are not 
sure of Billy Braxton himself. I once too thought that I 
could most certainly have told his person among a thou- 
sand, and even among tens of thousands, but either Billy 
has been playing a trick on me, or my eyes have refused 
their offices of longer acting as a guide to my understand- 
ing. In short, Maggy, I am just as much at a loss to 
know whether this strange personage be really our old 
friend Billy Braxton, as I am to conjecture what could be 
his motives for such a transformation, supposing it to be 
possible that he is the veritable creature you take him to 
be.” 

“ And I am brought to encounter the same difficulties 
with yourself,” rejoined Harry. “ If he was in reality our 
old friend Billy, we shall in all probability be put in pos- 
session of some additional intelligence concerning him at 
no distant time. If, on the contrary, he be but an indif- 
ferent individual, and went through the part we saw him 
perform either from caprice, or from a cautiousness with 
which we have no direct concern, then his assumed ap- 
pearance can be of little consequence to us either one way 
or the other.” 

We will pass over in silence what befell our travelers 
during the remainder of this, and the three or four suc- 
ceeding days, which had necessarily to elapse before they 
approached the end of their journey. 

They had now approached within thirty miles of the 
great commercial city toward which they were directing 
their travels. It was the last day of their long journey, 
and while waiting for breakfast, and gazing out of a win- 
dow that opened on the public road before them, the same 
mysterious horseman again rode past with his accustomed 
velocity, and apparently with renewed efforts to conceal 
his countenance and person from those who were watch- 
ing his movements. Agnes was the first this time to an- 
nounce his sudden approach to her companions. “ Look, 
Harry ! Maggy !” she abruptly broke forth with distinct 
emphasis, but evidently with some degree of trepidation, 
“yonder comes our flying horseman again. Now mark 


70 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


him well !’’ But almost before her words had time to fall 
from her lips the horseman had pushed forward with light- 
ning' speed, and was already lost to their wondering eyes 
in the distance. 

“ He seems to ride like Lucifer himself,” exclaimed 
Harry. “ He must doubtless be either a madman or a 
demon I” 

‘‘ I tell you again,” replied Maggy with great simplicity, 
“be he madman or be he the Evil One himself, he is none 
other than our old acquaintance Billy Braxton. This time 
I am sure of it, for I saw the fiery glance from his eye as 
plainly as I saw the horse that carried him.” 

It is proper that we should explain to our readers what 
Maggy meant by saying that she saw so plainly the fiery 
glance from the rapid horseman’s eye. Nothing very re- 
markable in the appearance of Billy Braxton was noticed 
by his acquaintances in the neighborhood where he for- 
merly resided except a lively and marked expression of 
his eyes, which manifested itself whenever his general 
conduct was assailed with reproach and censure by those 
who were disposed to treat him with the severity it was 
supposed his course of life deserved. On all such occa- 
sions he would erect his person into an attitude of dignity 
and defiance, and a hundred times it was observed that a 
flash of painful but withering indignation shot from his 
eyes, which was as peculiar as it was commanding and 
dreadful. Maggy had felt it in her own person, and now 
bore testimony to its awful and fascinating effect. It was 
a look that was at once dignified and conciliating, — blend- 
ing in its expression the elements of a suppressed sorrow 
with the anguish of a proud and turbulent heart. 

The moment Maggy made the remark we have men- 
tioned above she was interrupted by Agnes, who ex- 
claimed in apparently fearful accents, “ Hush, Maggy ! for 
the sake of all that is peaceful and orderly, hush ! Between 
Harry and yourself, if you do not become more quiet and 
rational, I shall die of fear and vexation. While one of 
you is calling this poor man a fiend, and the other is sur- 
rounding him with fire and brimstone, I almost feel as if I 
had glimpses of those doleful regions which poor girls like 
me can never think of but with shocked and uneasy nerves. 
If he be the Evil One, for goodness’ sake let us suffer him to 


OR, WHAT A FARMRR CAN DO. 


71 


pass on quietly, and not endan^^er our own peace by calling 
him names which after all perhaps may belong to him as 
little as to other people.” 

The half-serious and half-sarcastic manner in which these 
remarks dropped from the lips of Agnes, completely sealed 
the mouthy of Maggy for the time, who regarded the words 
she had heard as if they had been uttered in downright 
earnest. But Harry seemed to understand Agnes better. 

' He had-long been acquainted with her vein for pleasantry, 
and in answer to the language she had just made use of, 
he slyly observed, — 

“ Well, Agnes, the next time we meet the fiend you 
shall have him all to yourself. Maggy and I will act the 
part of humble lookers-on, and you shall manage him in 
your own way. You may soothe and flatter him into 
kindness and civility, if you can. But should he grow 
troublesome on your hands, remember, you are to depend 
on your own skill and address — your own courage and 
sagacity — for deliverance. I can only promise that if you 
happen to prove a match for his cunning and duplicity, so 
far as regards myself you shall most certainly receive my 
hearty congratulations.” 

“ I defy the foul fiend !” exclaimed Agnes, in a theatrical 
tone that was meant to be ludicrous, and that was so in 
reality, — “ I defy and despise him. And now, Harry,” 
she continued, as soon as we have done breakfast, and 
your nerves are sufficiently composed, be good enough to 
conduct your charge with a little more politeness, as well 
as a little more attention to speed, on the further stages 
of their journey. We have been detained here so long 
this morning that I am afraid we shall hardly reach the 
house in time where we intend to rest and take our dinners 
at noon.” 

Harry promised to exert himself, and after breakfast the 
horses were got out, and our travelers continued their 
journey with somewhat more than their usual speed. 
Agnes was evidently disposed to indulge in the same 
vein of good humor and pleasantry that manifested itself 
before breakfast. She asked Maggy if she did not think 
the hartshorn contained in her vinaigrette would form an 
adequate defense against the fiery overflow, whatever it 
might be, that streamed so fearfully from the mysterious 


12 


HE^RY COURTLAND; 


horseman’s eye. “Should we overtake him again, ’’.said 
she, “ as sure as he attempts to scowl on me with that ap- 
palling look which frightened you so much this morning, I 
will most valiantly confront him with the hartshorn, and 
he shall at least be made to inhale the subtle contents of 
my vinaigrette for the more baleful fumes of his own 
poisonous sulphur.” Then directing her discourse to 
Harry, she exclaimed, “ Now do, Harry, for the sake of 
peace and comfort, agree to slacken your pace a little. I 
doubt very much whether the fleet apparition is at your 
heels, and even if he were, I think it would puzzle you 
prodigiously to outride him. At all events, I have some 
curiosity to see this same specter again, and would be 
almost willing to dine with him at the same table. But 
if you continue to drive at this terrible rate we may leave 
him behind us on the road, or you may cause him to out- 
strip us from a sheer spirit of pride and emulation.” 

Harry was now obliged to rein in his horses, although 
only an hour before he had been reproached on account of 
his laggard motion, and had been requested by Agnes to 
quicken his speed. They proceeded, however, at a moder- 
ate and steady gait, which brought them in time to the inn 
where they proposed to stop for dinner. Agnes and her 
companion were shown into a little apartment adjoining 
the dining-room, while Harry accompanied the hostler to 
the stable, for the purpose of seeing proper attention paid 
to the horses. 

In entering the apartment which received our guests 
they were conducted by the landlord through a door leading 
from the dining-room, we have just mentioned, but there 
was another door on the opposite side of this apartment 
that was now closed, but which they could see from the 
windows opened out into a back yard. The weather had 
by this time become somewhat cool and unpleasant, a 
large fire was blazing in a chimney of uncommonly wide 
dimensions, and our two females seated themselves in close 
proximity to the cheerful hearth. 

“ Why, this huge chimney reminds one,” said Agnes to 
her companion, “of the capacious outworks which formed 
the appendages of the old baronial castles. The fire-place 
is large enough to warm a regiment of soldiers, and the 
flue above might conveniently admit them to drop down 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


73 


two abreast at our very feet. It would hardly have been 
safe to occupy such a house as this during our revolution- 
ary war. If the doors had been barricaded so as to ex- 
clude intruders from below, it would have been no difficult 
matter to scale the roof of the building, and scramble down 
through the chimney from above.” 

“ Thank fortune.,” observed Maggy, “ we have nothing of 
that kind to fear at present. And yet the world even now 
is famous for strange sights and apparitions, so that people 
are liable to be scared to death in broad daylight. I 
am sure I have been troubled more than a little in trying 
to banish from my mind that unmannerly knave Billy 
Braxton, who has kept haunting my imagination ever 
since we saw him riding along the road like Tam O’Shan- 
ter among the witches. It is only this moment that I 
thought I saw the fierce eye of the creature shining in 
these very coals of fire.” 

“ Then, sure enough,” said Agnes, “ he must have 
dropped down the chimney for the very purpose of paying 
us a visit. But I am glad, Maggy, that you see him peer- 
ing from the fire. I think it is hot enough to singe him a 
little, whether he be spirit, demon, or only flesh and bones.” 

The moment Agnes uttered these words, the door we 
have described as leading into the back yard was opened 
from the outside, and the form of Billy Braxton presented 
itself before the eyes of the affrighted females. Maggy 
uttered an involuntary scream, but which she contrived to 
suppress time enough to prevent a complete exposure of 
her alarm and weakness. Agnes herself started to her 
feet, as if ready to combat some concealed danger that she 
was at a loss to understand, but which she was waiting to 
see unfold itself in order that she might stand more com- 
pletely on the defensive. In the midst of this alarm and 
confusion, Billy himself either felt or feigned some degree 
of surprise on his part. 

“Pardon me, ladies!” he exclaimed after a moment’s 
pause, “but I am afraid I have unwillingly intruded into 
an apartment that is appropriated to your own privacy.” 
Then, pretending to fix a more studied and particular look 
of inquiry on the person of Agnes, he cried out, “ Why, in 
the name of wonders, is not this Miss Russell ? Surely it 
is, or my senses are most strangely deceiving me I” 


u 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


“ It is Miss Russell, at your service.” replied Agnes in 
her usual quiet tone, “ and if I, too, am not at fault, I 
believe I see before me the form and person of my old 
friend and acquaintance Billy Braxton 

“ Precisely so, ” rejoined her interlocutor. “ Billy Brax- 
ton, formerly of the neighborhood of Courtland Hall, but 
now William Braxton, of the City of New York.” 

When these last words were uttered by Braxton, he 
deliberately straightened himself up to the utmost height of 
his full stature, folded his arms across his breast, and sent 
from his eye that terrible glance of scorn and reproof 
which, as we have seen, Maggy considered the best evi- 
dence of his real identity. But Agnes had by this time 
so far recovered from the surprise of his intrusion that she 
resolved not only to preserve, unmoved, her own self-pos- 
session, but to learn a little more, if possible, of the strange 
transformation of her quondam friend and acquaintance. 
We must first inform our readers, however, that his ap- 
pearance now differed very materially from that which his 
person had assumed while riding on horseback. He had 
got rid of his cap and of his large overcoat, and was arrayed 
in precisely the same dress that he wore, when in company 
with Mr. Marshfield, at the period of their visiting the 
house of Mr. Russell. 

“ Will you be seated, Mr. Braxton ?” said Agnes, after 
he had so significantly reminded her of his being no longer 
Billy Braxton, but rather William Braxton, of the City of 
New York. “ The mere change of a name,” she continued, 
especially when it is so slight, as in your case, can be a 
matter of but little importance to anybody, but the thorough 
change of behavior and address in our former acquaint- 
ances is calculated to occasion no small surprise in the 
mind of the most thoughtless person.” 

‘‘Oh I I understand you,” answered Braxton, taking a 
chair at the same time, and seating himself in the circle 
round the fire with our two travelers ; “but we will not 
talk of that now. There are few persons in the world 
whose external conduct corresponds exactly with the 
thoughts and feelings that are agitating their bosoms 
within. Let that be a sufficient answer to your inquiries 
at present. And now, may I not hope that I understand 
the object of your present journey ?” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


75 


“ That object,” rejoined Agnes, “ we have no reason to 
conceal from any one, and especially may we mention it 
to you, since it is owing partly to your OAvn persuasion 
that you find us here to-day, so far from our friends and 
home. To-night we hope to rest in the City of New 
York, and it is our purpose to embark with Mr. Marshfield 
as soon after as possible for the coast of California.” 

‘‘ And you have engaged a hotel, I suppose,” said Brax- 
ton, “ where you expect to put up during your stay in the 
city ?” 

“I believe Mr. Courtland,” replied Agnes, “has made 
some arrangement of that sort, with the particulars of 
which, however, I do not profess to be acquainted.” 

“Then,” said Braxton, “let me give you some advice 
in relation to a matter about which you have a perfect 
right to consult your own convenience and comfort. Take 
this card, and let Mr. Courtland drive to the hotel which 
it describes. I make this suggestion at the request of 
Captain Lamberton, who feels an interest in your welfare, 
and who is desirous to see you as comfortably provided 
for as possible.” 

Agnes took the card from Braxton, and before she had 
time to make any further reply, he rose hastily from his 
seat, walked to the same door at which he had entered a 
few minutes before, and immediately disappeared in a 
direction across the back yard. 

Just as Braxton withdrew from the door in the manner 
we have mentioned, Harry entered from the other door 
that opened from the dining-room. 

“You are a most efficient sentinel, to be sure, Harry, in 
regard to us two distressed damsels !” exclaimed Agnes, 
as soon as she saw him at the door. “ The mysterious 
ogre, who has been haunting us along the road, and who 
Maggy would almost declare dropped down from the top 
of this huge chimney here, has been sitting in this room 
for a full ten minutes, and might have borne us off to his 
banqueting place for anything you could have done for us, 
had we not shown by our own language and address that 
we did not fear him. And now you come, at the very 
moment your services are least wanted.” 

“What does all this mean ?” said Harry. “ I am sure 
I do not understand you. I was detained by the man in 


76 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


the stable so long that it was impossible for me to get here 
sooner.” 

“Ay! ay!” answered Agnes. “I am disposed to 
give full credit to your statement. No doubt he made 
you believe that your horses in the stable were of more 
account than your friends in the hostelry. But come, 
Harry, sit down and you shall hear all.” 

Agnes then recounted to him every particular that had 
transpired since they entered the house, and during his 
absence at the stable. She concluded by delivering him 
the card which Braxton had passed into her hands, and 
the invitation of which he said it was Captain Lamberton’s 
wish they should obey. 

When Agnes had finished telling her story, which she 
did not fail to accompany with several remarks that were 
both sagacious and amusing, Harry put on a face of un- 
usual gravity. 

“ There is something in this man’s conduct,” said he, 
“which is, to say the least of it, highly extraordinary. 
I am afraid there may be more method in his madness 
than we are disposed to give him credit for. Are you 
sure he is the same individual who encountered us so fre- 
quently on the road during the last three or four days ?” 

“Indeed, Harry,” answered Agnes, “that is more than 
I succeeded in finding out with all my boldness. I was 
fully resolved on asking him the question, but he evaded 
it so promptly, and parted from us so abruptly, that it 
seemed to require much more wit than I could justly lay 
claim to in order properly to accomplish my purpose.” 

“La, me!” exclaimed Maggy, “w^hat reason is there 
for disputing about a matter that we must all see is so 
very plain ? Didn’t he almost again pierce us through, 
the audacious impostor, with that fiery eye of his ? He 
thought I wouldn’t know him to be the same person, be- 
cause he hadn’t on the same dress he wore in his hobgob- 
lin gallops along the road. But I tell you whether he 
puts on the appearance of a rollicking ghost, or of plain 
Billy Braxton, 1 should know him equally well all over 
the world. And then to think that he sat chattering, like 
a knave as he is, in this very room, without once saying 
so much to his old friend as How do you do, Maggy ! 
But may be, some day or other. I’ll be even with him.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


77 


“ I have been connecting together,” said Harry, “ the 
several circumstances we have recently met with as well 
as I can, and they seem to me to point to some design, 
part of which I may possibly understand, but the whole 
drift of which it is utterly out of my power at present to 
fathom. This man’s evident attempt along the road at 
concealment, — my detention at the stable, which I now 
strongly believe to have been a contrivance of his own, — 
the interview effected with you in this room during my 
absence, in a dress different from that he wore a few days 
ago, and his abrupt departure as soon as he saw my ap- 
proach from the dining-room — his reluctance to be ques- 
tioned about his recent movements, and his desire that we 
should take lodgings at a hotel in the city pointed out by 
himself and Captain Lamberton, — all this I say looks very 
much as if something was intended which is ultimately to 
affect our own interests. Part of this scheme, as I have 
hinted, would seem to be to place us under the same roof 
in the city with Captain Lamberton. Now this must be 
avoided. I have the address of Mr. Marshfield, to whose 
lodgings I have promised to repair as soon as we arrive in 
New York. Thither, therefore, we must direct our course 
with all convenient dispatch, and so far as regards myself, 
I feel as if I shall not have properly performed my duty 
until I have placed you safely, according to promise, under 
that gentleman’s more particular care and protection.” 

Agnes seemed to see the subject in a great measure as 
he saw it himself, and perceived no good reason for dis- 
senting from any of his opinions. But although she assumed 
a somewhat more serious air when they entered the carriage 
after dinner for the purpose of renewing their journey, yet, 
as we have said, she was careful to observe in her de- 
meanor a steady and unalterable style of cheerfulness. It 
was with this same spirit of cheerfulness that all our travel- 
ers in the evening reached the great emporium of that 
portion of our country which they were proud to call their 
native State. 

Although Harry was not very familiar with the streets 
in the City of New York, he was not long in discovering 
the location of the hotel in which Mr. Marshfield had his 
lodgings. As soon as they arrived, our travelers were 
conducted to an apartment which they were given to un- 

7 * 


78 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


derstand would be exclusively devoted to their own use 
durin" their stay at the hotel, and in which they were 
served with everything calculated to render them easy 
and comfortable. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

When morning arrived, the three companions were up 
early, in order that they might have the more time to 
complete their preparations for appearing in public. But 
they resolved to take their repast in their own apartment. 
This would obviate the necessity of an abrupt meeting 
with Mr. Marshfield at the public table, which it was the 
object of all parties to avoid if possible. 

After our travelers had dispatched their breakfast, and 
were ready to receive company, it was proposed that Harry 
should go in search of Mr. Marshfield, Agnes and Maggy 
agreeing to occupy their own apartment until his return. 
It was now the latter part of November, but the weather 
continued to be unusually fine and pleasant for the season. 
The sun still shone with a warmth that was soothing and 
cheerful — hundreds of ladies and gentlemen were busily 
employed in promenading the public streets — the rivers 
and the bay around the city seemed to be like great sheets 
of light under the blue canopy of the skies — the little birds 
were warbling from cages suspended outside of the windows 
— and the air was filled with a balmy softness that was 
truly sweet and exhilarating. On a morning like this, 
and after a journey so long and fatiguing as the one they 
had just undergone, it is not surprising that Agnes and 
her companion should be willing, as much as possible, to 
participate in its enjoyments. For this purpose they drew 
their chairs very close to one of the doors of their" apart- 
ment, which opened out on a long porch, from which there 
was a full view of the distant Hudson River, and the mag- 
nificent bay into which it empties. Harry had not yet re- 
turned, and the two females could not very well account 
for his long absence. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


79 


While thus placed together, and occasionally exchang- 
ing remarks on the different objects the view before them 
presented, the attention of Agnes was suddenly directed 
to the conversation of two gentlemen, who appeared to be 
sitting on the porch in front of the room next to the one 
which she and her companion occupied, but whose per- 
sons were concealed from her in consequence of her posi- 
tion inside of the door leading from her own apartment. 
Although she could hardly have permitted herself to form 
any intentional design of listening to the words that passed 
between persons with whom she had been accidentally as- 
sociated ; yet, owing to the circumstances under which she 
was placed, it would have been next to impossible for her 
to avoid hearing their conversation, however much she 
might have desired to do so. The following remarks were 
so distinctly uttered, and had so much interest for the ears 
of Agnes, that she caught every word spoken by either of 
the parties : 

“ Braxton,” said one to the other, “ has I think secured 
to me the benefit of their company, until the vessel in 
which they are to embark shall be ready to sail on her 
voyage. They expected to reach the city last evening, 
but perhaps they found it more convenient to postpone 
their arrival until this morning.” 

“I hope to see them here, at my own lodgings,” an- 
swered the other gentleman. “ That was the arrange- 
ment I made with Mr. Courtland, and that was the ar- 
rangement too which I supposed was not only well under- 
stood by both of us, but was regarded by yourself as most 
fitting and agreeable.” 

“It would certainly be better,” said his companion, 
“ that I should have an opportunity of becoming a little 
more intimate with Miss Russell before leaving port, so 
that we may not feel toward each other as strangers 
when we shall happen to meet together at San Francisco. 
And indeed, Mr. Marshfield,” he continued, “ I have some 
notion that she shall embark in the same vessel with my- 
self, which perhaps will be just as agreeable, and will cer- 
tainly be quite as safe, as if she were placed more immedi- 
ately under your own charge.” 

“ That shall never be with my consent,” replied Mr. 
Marshfield. “ I have engaged to become the protector of 


80 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


the young lady until I shall have placed her at the side of 
her brother, for which purpose alone she has consented to 
embark on her expected voyage.” 

“ We shall see more about that in a very short time,” 
rejoined the other speaker. I did not suppose, Mr. 
Marshfield, that you would have raised objections about a 
matter in regard to which we might both have felt very in- 
different. In the mean time, I can see no cause why we 
should attempt to discuss this matter any further. You 
have been short and emphatic in announcing to me your 
determination, for which reason, permit me, without further 
ceremony, to bid you good-morning.” 

Our readers may know that Agnes Russell listened with 
no small degree of interest and surprise to this conversa- 
tion. The persons between whom it took place were, of 
course. Captain Lamberton and Mr. Marshfield. She 
could not help noticing that each of them manifested an 
evident feeling of suspicion and jealousy towards the other, 
but she found it difficult to comprehend what the exact 
nature of their feelings was towards herself. She was far 
from believing that either of them wished to do her any 
direct injury, and yet their conversation made impressions 
on her mind that left it in a state of uncertainty and con- 
fusion. That both of them desired to exercise an exclusive 
authority over her as her guardian and protector, she could 
not doubt, but this she knew was perfectly consistent with 
the highest regard for her individual welfare and happi- 
ness. And yet why should they so cai)tiously oppose each 
other if both had the same oVjject in view ? She could not 
conceal from herself that what she had just heard caused 
her considerable uneasiness, and yet she hardly knew 
what course it would be proper for her to take on the oc- 
casion. On looking at Maggy it seemed evident that she 
had not been equally attentive with herself in listening to 
what was going on in front of the adjoining apartment, as 
her countenance had remained perfectly calm and uncon- 
cerned during the whole time that was devoted to the con- 
versation between the two gentlemen. But Agnes felt 
great hesitation in alarming the fears of her companion by 
betraying her own doubts and uneasiness. As she was 
herself unable to comprehend the exact meaning of the 
conversation that had taken place in her hearing, she could 


OR, WflAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


81 


hardly expect that Maggy would be more successful in in- 
terpreting its true import. Under these embarrassing cir- 
cumstances, and before Agnes had clearly determined in her 
own mind what was the best to be done, she was suddenly 
interrupted in her reveries by hearing the approach of 
Harry, in company with the landlord of the hotel and Mr. 
Marshfield. 

Entering with considerable bustle from the porch into 
the apartment occupied by Agnes and Maggy, Harry ex- 
claimed aloud, “We have discovered the gentleman at last 
after whom we made such a tedious search this morning. 
We pushed our inquiries in every direction, and on our 
return found him sitting in his own apartment. The land- 
lord obligingly assisted me in making this discovery, and 
we are indebted to him, Agnes, for the pleasure of Mr. 
Marshfield’s company.” 

Agnes bowed to her visitor, and assured him of the 
pleasure she experienced in meeting him on the occasion. 
Maggy was at the same time introduced to Mr. Marsh- 
field ; and the landlord, having accomplished his object in 
bringing the parties together, withdrew to some other part 
of the hotel where his services were next wanted. 

The conversation now carried on between our travelers 
and Mr. Marshfield had reference mainly to the prepara- 
tions necessary to be made for the projected voyage. The 
ship in which this latter gentleman had taken his passage 
was to sail in two or three days. 

While engaged in making these arrangements with Mr. 
Marshfield, Agnes thought that an evident alteration had 
taken place in his complexion and appearance since she 
saw him in company with Braxton at her father’s house. 
He had grown thinner and paler. She even imagined that 
he breathed with greater difficulty, and that some change 
had taken place in the color and expression of his eyes. 
His cough, indeed, might have been better, since his person 
in all probability has been recently freer from exposure 
to the effect of the weather, but the hectic flush on his 
countenance gave indubitable proofs of the ravages his 
disease was producing on the vital organs within. 

After dinner Harry concluded to dispose of his own time 
in attending to some little matters of business necessary to 
complete the preparations Agnes was making for her in- 


82 


HENR Y CO UR TLA ND ; 


tended voyage, and Maggy proposed to do one or two 
errands having for their object the accomplishment of the 
same end. 

When her companions had retired, Agnes was left alone 
in the apartment they occupied, and could not help giving 
full vent to the feelings which so deeply moved and dis- 
turbed her bosom. 

“This, then,” said she to herself, “is the beginning of 
an experience that already confuses my understanding and 
dampens ray spirits. I have much to disturb, if I have 
not much to alarm me. I am conscious of being about to 
brave a world that is not only filled with sorrow, but is 
sometimes cruel, uncharitable, and deceitful. Thousands 
who are exposed to its troubles and anxieties — who are 
tried by its snares and temptations — thousands who go 
forth supported with a courage and resolution which be- 
long to rougher natures than mine — who, if their own 
strength fails, may summon to their assistance the 
strength of others — are seen daily to become the victims 
of their presumption and temerity. How, then, is it likely 
to happen with a timid and defenseless girl, who, if her 
patience and endurance should desert her, has nothing else 
on which to rely ? I am engaged indeed in a mission of 
love and duty ; but what does the world know or care about 
an undertaking like this ? I am about to endure fatigue 
and anxiety — privation and peril — for the purpose of be- 
coming the deliverer of one who is near and dear to me. 
But who will thank me for the dangers and sufferings to 
which I willingly expose myself but he alone, and one or 
two others, for whom they are encountered ? And yet I 
am not so weak or so stupid as to forget where my real 
strength lies. It is the solitary star that sometimes shines 
loveliest and brightest. It is the humblest flower that 
sometimes sends forth the most grateful odor. It is the 
feeblest heart that is often endowed from above with the 
greatest share of strength and resistance. May it not be 
more noble to struggle alone than to rely on the assistance 
of those who are frequently unable' and much more fre- 
quently unwilling, to stand by us in our greatest need ? 
There is an arm above which is constantly outstretched to 
save the humble and the innocent. I will endeavor to 
make that arm my trust. I will abjure all confidence in 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


83 


my own strength, and, with the smooth pebble from the 
brook, will boldly withstand the giant difficulties by which 
I am opposed.” 

It was with such reflections and such resolutions as 
these that Agnes Russell armed her mind and heart to 
meet the sorrows and trials which she had too much reason 
to suppose awaited the future progress of her mission. So 
far from shrinking from what she believed to be the simple 
discharge of her duty, she now felt a renewed conscious- 
ness of her inward strength and security, and looked for- 
ward with hope and triumph to a successful termination 
of all the sorrows and sufferings she might be called to 
encounter. 


CHAPTER XY. 

While thus employed in fortifying her mind against the 
perils of her situation, and just at the moment when her 
strength and confidence had become greatest, she was 
somewhat surprised, as well as alarmed, at the sudden 
entrance of the landlord into her quiet apartment, followed 
by no less a personage than our familiar acquaintance, Mr. 
William Braxton. 

“ This is Miss Russell,” said the landlord, as he formally 
ushered Braxton into the presence of his guest — after 
which he immediately retired without speaking another 
word. 

“ 1 hope,” exclaimed Braxton, as he entered the room, 
“that Miss Russell will pardon the liberty I have pre- 
sumed to exercise in thus making my appearance again 
before her. But she may rest assured that nothing but a 
strict sense of duty which I owe to another as well as to 
herself — could have urged me to this second intrusion.” 

On hearing these words, so politely uttered by her old 
friend of simple and shabby memory, but whose present 
important air and manners were calculated to give to his 
character no little degree of suspicion, the first impulse of 
Agnes was to reply with something like marked severity. 


84 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


But a moment’s hesitation led her to believe that her better 
plan would be to deal with him more after his own fashion. 
She therefore politely invited him to take a seat, while at 
the same time she instinctively pushed her chair farther 
from his, as if on purpose to let him know that she did not 
fully approve of his visit. 

“And pray, sir,” said she, as soon as they were seated 
together, “explain, if you please, why it is that you regard 
your visit, so unexpected to me, as an indispensable duty. 
I am quite anxious to be informed of the particular busi- 
ness you have with me on the present occasion.” 

“Alas!” replied Braxton, “it is after all a matter that 
may be understood in a moment of time. You saw proper 
to disregard the advice of Captain Lamberton on the sub- 
ject of selecting lodgings during your stay in the city. 
This treatment has occasioned much mortification to his 
feelings, especially as he was desirous of befriending you 
on a point of still greater importance, relating to your ex- 
pected voyage to California.” 

“ Say to Captain Lamberton, if you please,” said Agnes, 
drawing her person to an erect position in the chair she ocr 
cupied, “ that I shall ever try to be grateful for all the favors 
I am sensible of having received, or that I may hereafter 
receive, from a person who owes me nothing, and with 
whom I have a very slight and limited acquaintance. But 
let him know that I do not now feel, so far as I understand 
my own wants, that there is any necessity for his imme- 
diate services. Make this known to him as my brief and 
simple answer. And now, Billy Braxton,” she continued, 
fixing her dark keen eyes on the countenance of her vis- 
itor, which was cast in troubled perplexity on the floor, 
“ whatever be your character or pretensions at present, 
suffer me to address you as I heretofore did when we lived 
together in the country, and when you seemed to be frank, 
simple, and honest, in all your intercourse with myself 
and others. Inform me at once, without any efforts at 
disguise or concealment, what the standing of this Captain 
Lamberton is in the world, and what real interest he feels 
in my own welfare. 1 make this request, because from 
what I have lately observed in your carriage and deport- 
ment, I have every reason to believe that you understand 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


85 


this man much better than I once would have thought it 
was in your power to do.” 

“ Why,” said Braxton, with much gravity, do you seek 
to make me instrumental in administering to a curiosity, 
which I am persuaded it would be better you should not 
have gratified at present ? I have already told you that 
I am no longer Billy Braxton, and therefore you have the 
less right to interrogate me in that character. As a dif- 
ferent person — as a man of business, and the world — I am 
obliged, even if I had it in my power to do otherwise, to 
withhold a satisfactory answer to your questions,” 

“ Be it so then,” rejoined Miss Russell with sternness. 
“ But if you are prevented from answering my questions 
touching the character and conduct of Captain Lamberton, 
disclose to me, at least, the mystery which has so remark- 
ably changed your own deportment and appearance. Make 
me sensible of the causes which have operated to trans- 
form my old friend and neighbor, Billy Braxton, once so 
plain, and apparently so innocent and artless, into the 
shrewd, graceful, and bustling Mr. William Braxton, gentle- 
man and man of business, of the City of New York.” 

“ It is of little consequence. Miss Russell,” answered 
Braxton, “ that you should understand this mystery. 
There is some philosophy at the bottom of it, which a 
mind like your own may indeed be capable of under- 
standing, but which I am convinced would benefit you 
very little to comprehend at present. Perhaps at some 
future period, what now appears to you so very dark and 
mysterious will unfold itself as^ having originated from cir- 
cumstances which are not peculiar to my own experience 
in life. Till that period shall arrive, be willing to think 
charitably of your old acquaintance, and do not believe 
that his movements are necessarily connected either with 
the Prince of the Power of the Air, or with those less 
interior agents of evil who more openly perpetrate their 
nefarious schemes of mischief in every highway and by- 
path of this world. And as an important sequel to these 
remarks, suffer me to make one request, which I am 
strongly inclined to believe it is of the utmost concern to 
your future peace and happiness that you should unre- 
servedly comply with. In all your relations hereafter 
with myself, no matter how dark and ambiguous may ap- 

8 


86 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


pear to be the events which shall bring* us together, never 
doubt for a single instant the integrity and good faith of 
your old friend Billy Braxton.” 

The moment this singular being had uttered the above 
remarkable speech, he bowed politely to Miss Russell, and 
before she had time to make the least reply, he had with- 
drawn from the room, and his steps were scarcely audible 
at the foot of the stairway which led down to the main 
entrance of the building. 

Our readers may readily suppose that the interview 
which took place between Agnes Russell and Billy Brax- 
ton had a most powerful effect on the mind of the former. It 
was evident that something dark and unaccountable attended 
the movements of Captain Lamberton, the mystery of which 
it was utterly out of her own power to fathom. And the 
mystery in relation to Braxton was still more calculated 
to elude her closest scrutiny. How she was to regard 
these two individuals became a question to her of no little 
moment. Were their intentions toward her good or evil ? 
Braxton seemed to give her assurances of the interest 
which Captain Lamberton felt in her welfare, and yet 
when she considered his whole conversation taken to- 
gether, she couM not but entertain some doubts in regard 
to his motives and intentions. These doubts were con- 
firmed by the conversation she had overheard between 
Captain Lamberton and Mr. Marshfield, which left an im- 
pression on her mind unfavorable to the designs which the 
former might have in view concerning her. But how was 
she to extricate herself from these perplexing difficulties ? 
She was embarked on the discharge of a most sacred duty, 
which it would not do for her to abandon on account of 
some supposed dangers, which after all might only exist 
in her own imagination. She moreover took courage from 
the earnestness with which she heard Mr. Marshfield de- 
clare himself to be her protector, and the resolution he ex- 
pressed of seeing her in safety at the side of her brother. 
She seemed likewise to place great reliance on the declara- 
tion made by Braxton, that she should at no time there- 
after suffer herself to distrust his fealty and attachment to 
her person. All these considerations, together with her 
religious trust and confidence in an unseen arm, nerved 
her for the further prosecution of the task she had under- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


SI 


taken, and brought her to the firm determination to suffer 
matters to take their course until a more satisfactory de- 
velopment should be made to her own mind. 

She had scarcely arrived at this reasonable conclusion, 
and regained her former cheerful composure, when her 
peace was again somewhat disturbed by the hasty en- 
trance of Maggy, whose countenance betrayed unequivocal 
marks of anxiety and concern. The emotions of her frame 
were so obvious to the perception of her companion, that 
the latter could not help alluding to them the moment she 
made her appearance in her presence. 

“ You seem flurried, Maggy,” said Agnes, before the 
former had time to lay aside any part of her dress, or to 
utter a single word in relation to her evening’s adventures. 
“ You really look as if you had been frightened by a second 
ghost, perhaps seen as palpably stalking about the streets 
of New York City as the first was seen riding along the 
public thoroughfares of the country. Do tell me, my child, 
what has happened to you.” 

“ You are most wonderful quick in making discoveries,” 
said Maggy, “ for indeed I have seen something to-day 
which would have frightened us both had we been walk- 
ing together at the same time.” 

‘‘ Permit me then to ask, Maggy,” answered Agnes, 
“ what you saw that was so very frightful and alarming?” 

“I am at a loss to know,” said Maggy, ‘‘ why our old 
friends and neighbors, who once dwelt so kindly and so 
happily about Courtland Hall, should have all turned 
against me, and not only so, but should have become so 
much changed as almost to lose the mortal likeness which 
once seemed to become them so well. It was but the 
other day that that impudent weather-cock, Billy Braxton, 
seemed to be playing his pranks along the road in a 
style that was just as proud as it was weak and child- 
ish — bad luck to him ! — pretending that he was too good or 
too great to speak to one who had frequently fed him when 
he was hungry, and sheltered him when, perhaps, he had 
scarcely a wisp of straw on which to lay his head. And 
now again I have just been jostled and passed by in con- 
tempt by another, whose appearance has certainly not im- 
proved for the better since he left home, and whose pride 
seems to have grown as tall and as fast as the rosebush 


88 


HENRY COURTLAED; 


that he planted in our little garden, and which he was 
always bidding me to call after your own beautiful name.” 

Agnes felt a very perceptible tremor agitate her bosom 
at this simple speech delivered by Maggy, and with her 
utmost effort at maintaining her self-possession, she found 
herself unable to do more than exclaim in a faltering voice, 
“ Do, Maggy, tell me what you mean !” 

“ Why, then,” said Maggy, “to be plain with you, it is 
but ten minutes since I met Mr. Percy Courtland in the 
street, and would gladly have taken him by the hand, and 
told him all about home, and about you. But when he 
saw me he forced himself directly into the crowd at the 
market-house, as if he had never been nursed in these arms, 
or had never slept w^hen a child in this bosom.” 

Agnes turned round, and recoiled a moment from the 
sudden shock that had been given to her feelings. Then 
summoning to her assistance all the strength she was mis- 
tress of, she remarked with more composure and calm- 
ness, “ Perhaps this time, Maggy, you were positively 
mistaken.” 

“ Not one tittle was I mistaken, depend on it. Miss 
Agnes,” said the affectionate girl. “It is true, he w’^as 
altered in his looks and appearance, but I nevertheless 
knew him all the same as if I had seen him working on 
his father’s own comfortable farm.” 

“You say that he was altered in his looks, Maggy,” 
answered Agnes. “ Had you a view of his face ? Did he 
appear sad or cheerful ? Was his color pale or red ? 
But I can hardly think you had a very fair sight of his 
person.” 

“Just as fair a sight of his person, Miss Agnes, as I 
now have of your own. And indeed he was paler than 
when I knew him at his father’s house, and I am afraid a 
good deal sadder too, although I could not so certainly tell 
that on account of his vanishing with so much speed into 
the crowd. But ah, my pretty darling, you look pale your- 
self. Sure nothing has happened to distress you since I 
parted from you this afternoon ? Pray tell me what is the 
matter with you ?” 

“Nothing, Maggy!” replied Agnes. “Nothing that 
can occasion me any lasting uneasiness. A slight pal- 
pitation of the heart, which will pass away as suddenly 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


89 


as it came.” Then, rallying* her spirits, she continued, 
“ And his dress, Maggy ! how was it with his dress ? 
Was it worn and neglected, or did he appear as neat and 
comfortable as when he left his father’s house ?” 

“ Shabby ! shabby !” muttered Maggy to herself, as if 
unwilling to disclose all that she knew. “ But your lady- 
ship should not take these things too hard. Percy was 
always a good boy, and if the world is a little hard with 
him at present, no doubt he will learn in time how to ac- 
commodate himself to its whims, and will make his way 
through life like any other gentleman.” 

“ I hope so !” responded Agnes “And should you ever 
meet him again, under more favorable circumstances, I 
think you will hardly have occasion to believe that Percy 
Courtland could willfully neglect you or any of his other 
friends.” 

There can be no doubt at all but that Agnes Russell 
was deeply affected with the statement so simply and 
earnestly made by Maggy. Although she had been 
brought up in the country for the most part herself, yet 
she had learned enough of mankind from books, and from 
hearing the conversation of persons deeply immersed in 
worldly business, to suspect very strongly that Percy 
Courtland, as a young adventurer, was just now brought 
to that important crisis of his life when our courage 
and endurance are most severely tried, and our prin- 
ciples are subjected to an exposure that must either convert 
them into a shield for our future protection, or leave us 
forlorn and shipwrecked on the great ocean of life. There 
is a time in the affairs of almost every young man when 
his hopes and fears make a loud and earnest appeal to the 
soundness of his faith, and the efficacy of those virtuous and 
good affections which religion and education have been in- 
stilling into his mind from his earliest childhood. This is 
the turning-point on which depends his future success or 
disappointment in the world. If he has learned how to 
exercise the virtues of patience, resignation, and hope — if 
he has been taught to cultivate gentleness of speech and 
manners, rather than to lean on his own immature strength 
for safety — if he is resolved to make himself loved rather 
tlian feared — if his object is to become useful before he can 
expect to exercise power — if he endeavors to serve man- 

8 * 


90 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


kind before he asks mankind to serve him, — then may he 
calculate with great certainty on future prosperity and 
happiness. But if he feels himself restless and impatient 
under the restraints which are necessarily imposed on his 
ignorance and inexperience — if he places too much reliance 
on his own wisdom and judgment — if he values his ser- 
vices too highly, and attempts to command before he has 
legitimately risen to a proper station of authority — if he is 
unamiable and disobliging in his manners — headstrong and 
imperious in his disposition, — the prospect before him is 
but the promise of a more severe and more prolonged 
struggle with the evils which he heretofore professed to 
despise. In either case there is much to suffer, and much 
on which to exercise the noblest and best qualities of the 
heart. But in the one the tide of events leads on to fortune 
— in the other there is danger of its ending in the shoals 
and quicksands of disgrace and disappointment. Ought 
we to wonder that Agnes Russell feared for the future 
peace and happiness of her youthful associate ? 


CHAPTER XVI. 

When Harry returned to the hotel that evening, Agnes 
had but little to say in relation to the occurrences which 
had transpired during his absence. She rehearsed indeed 
what Maggy had stated about seeing his brother during 
her walk round the city, and the hasty manner in which 
he had apparently attempted to elude her observation. 
But she passed it all over as a matter about which Maggy 
might readily have been mistaken, and from which it would 
hardly be proper to draw any certain deductions. Nor 
was she more communicative on the subject of the visit 
she had received from Billy Braxton, barely mentioning 
that he had called for the purpose of inquiring why they 
had not availed themselves of the friendly advice that had 
been given them, by Captain Lamberton, to seek for other 
lodgings. Her great reason for being so silent on these 


OR, WHAT A FARJfRR CAN DO. 


91 


several subjects arose principally from the tenderness she 
felt for her father, and for her other friends who remained 
at home at Courtland Hall. She was unwilling- that any 
information should be carried back to them calculated to 
raise in their minds the slightest apprehensions of her own 
safety, and she was equally unwilling to alarm her two 
companions, who had journeyed with her to the great 
city. 

The next morning Mr. Marshfield called to inform them 
that the vessel on which Agnes expected to embark would 
sail the following day. Every arrangement had been 
made by her and her companion to be ready for the occa- 
sion. Harry had exerted himself much to forward and 
complete these preparations, and of course intended 
waiting until he should take a solemn farewell of his friends 
at the moment the vessel engaged to receive them was 
about to leave port. On the day appointed for this pur- 
pose Mr. Marshfield kindly waited on Agnes and her com- 
panion, in order to accompany them to the ship which lay 
still closely moored in front of the city. At the appointed 
time they took leave of their host at the hotel, and 
walked down to the wharf together. The weather had 
now become somewhat sharper, and Mr. Marshfield gave 
strong indications of not being so well pleased with the 
change. It was evident he felt chilly, if not uncomfortably 
cold. But he had taken every precaution to shield himself 
against the severity of the atmosphere, and although his 
countenance manifested unequivocal signs of a state of 
feeling not compatible with perfect good health, yet he 
continued to converse with cheerfulness and ease until 
they were all pleasantly seated in the cabin of the ship 
appointed for their reception. 

The vessel was not much crowded, and the appearance 
of the passengers was such as to give promise of a quiet 
voyage at least, if not of a pleasant one. 

It seemed at last that all had arrived who were ex- 
pected to constitute the list of passengers engaged for the 
contemplated voyage. Agnes now looked about her with 
less concern. She began to discourse with Harry in an 
animated and lively mood, and to rally him on his serious- 
ness, and apparent want of spirits. “ The separation of 
friends,’’ she whispered in his ear, “ is one of those evils 


92 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


which we ought to bear with the greater cheerfulness, be- 
cause there is always a hope, and a very strong hope too, 
that we shall be permitted to meet again at some future 
time. Do you think, Harry, that we are now about to part 
from each other forever? Certainly not. And whether 
our meeting again hereafter shall be in this world or in 
that brighter world which so many regard as a land of 
dreams only, but which we may believe is full of the most 
pleasing and delightful realities, it will be only the more 
joyful on account of the deep sorrow which the separa- 
tion at first occasioned. So cheer up, my boy, and let us 
part like friends, whose duties may lie in opposite directions, 
but whose enjoyments may meet and mingle again, when 
each of us shall have faithfully moved in that sphere where 
Providence has cast our lot. Go tell the friends of Agnes 
Russell that she leaves her native land full of hope and 
exultation. Tell them that the difficulties of her mission 
only serve to endear and exalt it to the height of her faith 
and devotion.” 

Harry was awed by the warm sentiments of his com- 
panion, and remained almost speechless on the occasion. 
Taking her hand into his with a warm and convulsive 
grasp, he had only firmness enough to say, “ Farewell, 
Agnes! You carry with you my sincerest prayers for 
your welfare, and 1 will endeavor, however feebly, to re- 
port your courage and determination to those who love 
you.” Then bidding an affectionate adieu to Magg}’-, Harry 
Courtland hastily emerged from the cabin, and in a moment 
afterwards was retracing his steps back to the hotel, from 
which he resolved to depart early next morning. 

When Harry had disappeared, Agnes took a more 
leisurely survey of the crowd of passengers who were still 
busy in passing and re passing each other, like a swarm of 
bees that has not yet found a convenient place to settle. 
She saw some faces she did not like, some that were more 
agreeable but not very attractive, and a few in which she 
found a greater degree of sympathy. There were not more 
than three or four females on board the ship besides her- 
self and Maggy, and among these she fancied it would be 
hard for her to select any one with whom she could asso- 
ciate as a constant companion. But turning away from 
this reconnoitering with a sigh, her attention was all at 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


93 


once attracted by a gentleman standing at the other end 
of the cabin, accompanied by a young lady who might be 
sixteen or seventeen years of age. 

The gentleman was dressed in black, but showed a coun- 
tenance at once mild, grave, and intelligent, — illuminated 
with a light which was as strong as it was benignant and 
cheerful. And yet his face, so far from being all sunshine, 
every now and then seemed to pass under a cloud, which 
was transparent indeed, but shaded the bright light re- 
flected from behind it. These shadows might have been 
occasioned by disease, perhaps by sorrow, or, as too 
frequently happens, by both together, but they were as 
agreeably changeable as the mist that hangs on the morn- 
ing landscape in summer. If they obstructed the light 
for a moment, they only rendered it the more brilliant 
afterwards. 

During the period Agnes sat thus employed in survey- 
ing and studying the countenances of her fellow-voyagers, 
she had occasionally exchanged remarks with Mr. Marsh- 
field on diflTerent subjects. And now that she took such a 
deep interest in the person and appearance of the stranger 
on whose arm the young lady was leaning, she felt as if 
sire would like to receive some further information in re- 
gard to his character and history. “ It seems to me,” said 
Agnes, addressing herself to Mr. Marshfield, “ that the 
gentleman standing yonder dressed in black, who so fondly 
regards the young lady at his side, has something in his 
countenance calculated to attract the notice of those around 
him. I suppose, sir, you never had the pleasure of his 
acquaintance 

“Your supposition,” answered Mr. Marshfield, “is not 
correct. That gentleman I have known for a number of 
years. His name is Stanley, and for a short time officiated 
as a minister of the Episcopal Church, in a country village. 
But he lost his wife, soon after the birth, I presume, of the 
young lady who now accompanies him, and with his wife 
he lost his health. Since that sad event he has spent 
much of his time in traveling, and in attending to the edu- 
cation of this his only child. But it seems to me he looks 
better now than be did a year or two ago.” 

“ And yet,” said Agnes, “ I can hardly think he is in 
possession of very improved health. But that sweet girl 


94 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


looks both healthy and happy. Her countenance certainly 
indicates a most charming state of innocence and cheer- 
fulness.” 

“ I have never had an opportunity of observing the 
daughter very closely,” rejoined Mr. Marshfield, “ but if I 
may be permitted to judge of her disposition from what I 
know of her father, I should suppose her to be a most 
amiable creature indeed. After the vessel shall have got 
fully under way, and the passengers have accommodated 
themselves to their several places in the cabin, you shall 
have an introduction to both of them.” 


CHAPTER XYII. 

The vessel was now undergoing the preparatory arrange- 
ments of being loosed from her moorings at the wharf. All 
hands on deck were busied in weighing anchor, and in at- 
tending to the other measures necessary for her departure. 
The loud and peremptory commands of the captain — the 
jovial songs of the mariners — the furling and unfurling of 
sails, and the shrill rattling of the spars and tackling — im- 
parted a momentary interest even to the minds of persons 
standing on the wharf, who had merely assembled to see 
the noble ship off. But these busy preparations had a 
still more decided effect on the minds of the passengers. 
There is indeed something which seems to give to each of 
us a kind of personal importance whenever we are brought 
under circumstances like those to which we have just al- 
luded. We feel as if all the noise and commotion around 
us — as if the concentration of so much labor and activity 
— the exercise of so much strength and energy — the com- 
binations of so many agencies and of so much enterprise — 
were directly brought together for our own personal and 
individual purposes. Our vanity is somewhat excited at 
the time, although we may be too wise or too cunning to 
suffer others to know what is passing within our own 
bosoms. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


95 


In a short time the gallant ship was completely freed 
from her trammels, and was gliding forward from the 
shore to which a few minutes before she had been fast 
anchored in front of the city. At this period Agnes ex- 
pressed a desire to visit the deck, in order that she might 
witness more fully the spectacle of her native land reced- 
ing from behind her in the far distance. The sight to her 
unaccustomed eyes was novel and impressive. It was now 
late in the afternoon, and the rays of the declining sun were 
reflected in one broad sheet of flame from out the wide ex- 
panse of waters before her. The same glorious light rested 
on- the tall spires of the city, and on the islands and prom- 
ontories that studded the bay as they passed out into the 
wide, wide ocean. Every fading gleam of sunshine re- 
minded Agnes of some darling joy she had left behind — of 
some tender connection that might be eternally sundered — 
of some fond pursuit she might have relinquished forever 
— of some favorite spot she might never visit more. “ Fare- 
well,” she said to herself, “farewell, my native land. I see 
thee still to-day as the home of my childhood and youth — 
as the birthplace of my joys and sorrows. But to-morrow 
thou shalt have vanished from my sight, and I may see 
thee no more forever !” 

Before Agnes had recovered from this melancholy rev- 
erie, Mr. Marshfield, who stood at her side, and who could 
not but observe the profound meditation into which she 
had unconsciously fallen, suddenly addressed her as fol- 
lows : 

“ You seem to be absorbed in your own reflections. 
Miss Agnes. Pray what is it in which you find so much 
interest ?” 

“ In everything around me,” answered Agnes. “ In 
the illimitable expanse of waters — in the bright light that 
lingers so beautifully on the fading landscape — in the glo- 
rious sheet of flame that illumines the depth of the ex- 
tended bay — in the receding shores on which possibly I 
may never set my footsteps again.” 

“ And in yonder setting sun,” rejoined Mr. Marshfield, 
“ rapidly sinking in the west, as if he were just about to 
be forever quenched in the dark and turbulent waves of 
the ocean.” 

“Not forever,” hastily responded Agnes, “not forever. 


96 


HEXRY COURTLAND ; 


Mr. Marshfield. That would be an image which .would 
certainly give me pain if I could view it as you seem to 
do. Ah, no, sir ! that sun will rise again to-morrow with 
ten times more splendor than accompanies his going down 
this evening.” 

“And what is the inference,” said Mr. Marshfield, “that 
you would draw from a fact we witness every day, but 
from which after all but few of us seem to derive any great 
wisdom ?” 

“ I would infer,” replied Agnes, “that the earthly light 
which illumines our frail bodies at present is not to be for- 
ever quenched in the dark shadows that must cover us in 
the grave.” 

“ 13ut what reason have you for coming to a conclusion 
that some of the wisest men of the world have rejected as 
untenable and fanciful ?” 

“ I have a thousand reasons,” answered Agnes, “ which, 
if they do not fall within the rules of worldly wisdom, are 
at least satisfactory to myself. I feel it in the glow of my 
own aspiring mind — in the sublimity of my thoughts — in 
the strength and purity of my affections. I see it in the 
glory and beauty of this outward sphere, which assures 
me there must be something higher and better somewhere 
else, where sin and sorrow will not be suffered to darken 
the images that there have an abiding and substantial 
existence. I know it from the pervading influence which 
impresses on the soul, even of the savage, that there is 
another state of being far more holy and happy than that 
which he enjoys in the present world.” 

Mr. Marshfield gazed on the face of Agnes as if to assure 
himself that he was listening to remarks which, although 
he had heard a thousand times before, yet coming from 
her on an occasion so unexpected and so simple, carried 
with them a force and meaning calculated to make a last- 
ing impression on his mind. Then turning to her again 
after a brief pause, he replied : 

“ But you who can so beautifully and accurately reason 
from the notions of your own bosom, and from the works 
of creation which lie open to your external senses, how are 
you impressed with what are generally believed to be the 
corresponding truths of revelation ? Do you find the same 
assurance of immortality in the one that you do in the other ?” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAM DO. 


97 


“ Not indeed, the same assurance,” answered Agnes, 
“ but a much higher degree of evidence in divine revelation 
than in the revelation of nature. In the revelation of God’s 
word there is, indeed, the same secrecy — the same incom- 
prehensible wisdom — the same apparent incongruities — the 
same undivulged mysteries — that are contained in the works 
of creation. As both have proceeded from a like divine 
origin, they must be surrounded with precisely the same 
deep covering, and so far as regards their hidden meaning 
to the mere natural understanding, must be attended with a 
like interior difficulty. But apart from this, there is a lan- 
guage of truth in revelation, adapted to the natural mind, 
which the simplest understanding may comprehend much 
more readily than it can the volume of nature. It is the 
adaptation of truth to our present imperfect mental capa- 
city, that gives an infinite superiority to the Bible over the 
more obscure handwriting we find inscribed on the works 
of creation. And this truth unfolds itself more and more 
as the superior degrees of our mind are in a wonderful 
manner more and more opened from above to receive it. 
But, indeed, Mr. Marshfield,” added Agnes, with great 
frankness and simplicity, “ I believe our conversation has 
unintentionally struck on a very grave subject, which I am 
afraid is hardly accommodated to the tastes and modes of 
thinking of those around us. When our attention a few 
minutes ago was called to witness the glories of the setting 
sun, I suppose that neither of us thought of rising from 
this world to penetrate the sublime mysteries of heaven.” 

“Well, I am sure I did not,” rejoined Mr. Marshfield; 
“and yet having ascended with you as my better angel, I 
must confess that I felt somewhat indifferent about return- 
ing so soon again to earth.” 

It must not be supposed that Mr. Marshfield had the 
slightest intention of uttering this remark in a spirit of 
gallantry. It was one of those happy expressions which 
found its way to his lips unsought, and was the natural 
effect of that elevated state of feeling which the earnest 
but simple remarks of Agnes so suddenly imparted to his 
own mind. The truth is, the faith of Mr. Marshfield was 
not yet firmly established on the testimony of either nature 
or revelation. Like many other men in the world, he had 
led a busy, sometimes an anxious, and latterly a wearisome 


98 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


life — and laboring under all this care and anxiety, although 
he did not entirely forget the early religious impressions 
that had been made on his mind by his pious parents, he 
often suffered these impressions to become weak and indis- 
tinct ; and amid the absorbing earthly interests in which 
he had sometimes been engaged, found them clinging to 
his existence but as a dream in which he once delighted, 
but the reality of w'hich was gradually fading from his 
memory. A change, however, had lately come over the 
temper of his dream. Misfortune, dissatisfaction with the 
world, a more vivid perception of the vanity and empti- 
ness of his own pursuits, increasing infirmities, and an abid- 
ing sense of confirmed sickness, had roused like giants the 
specters of his former thoughts and wishes, now loudly 
clamoring to have their doubts and difficulties satisfied. 
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that he should have 
listened with deep interest to the language made use of 
on the present occasion by Agnes, which seemed, he could 
scarcely tell how or why, to appeal to his own unsettled 
mind with the force and clearness of inspiration. He 
was never so well pleased — he was never so much moved — 
as he was by the few strong and emphatic words that had 
just been uttered by this simple girl. He did not stop 
long to inquire into the secret of this sudden hold on his 
faith. It seemed to be a matter of indifference to him 
whether it proceeded from the sublimity of her language, 
from the truth of her message, or from the manner in 
which she attempted to impress it on his understanding. 
All that he knew was that it affected him deeply, and that 
he was anxious to learn more in relation to the subject she 
had brought so vividly before him. 

“ It is strange,” he afterward said to himself, 'Hhat my 
understanding should have been more enlightened by the 
conversation of this unpretending female than by a thou- 
sand arguments from more learned and skillful reasoners. 
It shone like the phosphorescent fire that sometimes plays 
round the path of the ship sailing in mid-ocean, and which 
is as bright as it is difficult to account for. I will not at- 
tempt to investigate this singular influence with too much 
nicety. But I feel strongly disposed, when a proper oppor- 
tunity shall offer, to avail myself of more light from the 
same pleasing source ” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


99 


There are moments in which the strong man is brought 
to bow down in willing submission before the weak and 
humble. Walter Marshfield had once acted a conspicuous 
part in the gay and busy world. He would have been too 
proud at that time willingly to admit that his reason could 
be convinced by arguments coming from any one not dis- 
tinguished for learning, intellect, or eloquence. To have 
felt otherwise he would have regarded as a reproach to his 
own understanding. But now we behold him listening to 
a simple maiden, and longing to obtain that solution of his 
doubts from her which he despaired of obtaining from all 
the world besides. 

It is remarkable with what singular indifference Agnes 
apparently beheld the impressions she could not but be- 
lieve she had made on the mind of her friend. But this 
apparent indifference, in all probability, did not betray the 
exact state of her heart. She had perhaps before this discov- 
ered, or suspected, the true nature and extent of Mr. Marsh- 
field’s skepticism ; and although she was unwilling to believe 
that her own feeble efforts would have the slightest tendency 
to remove it, yet she well knew that there would be less 
likelihood of effecting this object by dictatorial officiousness, 
if it could be effected at all, than by that unobtrusive soft- 
ness and modesty so exclusively belonging to the female 
mind. It was for this reason, perhaps, that Agnes, with 
her usual discernment, suspended so abruptly the conver- 
sation commenced between them, which otherwise might 
have been prolonged to an unreasonable limit. 

Nor was Agnes able to restrain the strong bent of her 
disposition, which so frequently, under the gravest circum- 
stances, would seek occasion for good humor and merri- 
ment. Almost all the other passengers had retired to the 
cabin below, and night was approaching, when notice was 
given that supper was on the table. Agnes still lingered 
and gazed in the direction of the dark shadows that lined 
the shore, and the receding lights that might be seen dimly 
blazing in the distant city. Mr. Marshfield reminded her 
of the signal that had been made for the evening meal. 
But she seemed only the more intently engaged in watch- 
ing the lights across the bay, or tracing the bubbles that 
rose and disappeared in the wake of the rapid vessel. 
“You must come!” at length he exclaimed with some im- 


100 


nENR Y . CO UR TLAND ; 


patience. ‘‘You forget, my friend, that we are perhaps 
putting our fellow-passengers to some inconvenience, and, 
what is of equal importance to myself, that I am hungry, 
and feel seriously disposed to satisfy the cravings of my 
own appetite.” 

“Alas!” said Agnes, “how readily do we betray the 
vulgarity of our natures. A moment ago you professed to 
be an angel, and were willing to linger away from earth 
amid the spiritual beauties and pleasures of Paradise. 
But now you exhibit yourself as a gross inhabitant of this 
lower world, with no higher object in view than to indulge 
your longing appetite for — bread and butter.” 

Having uttered this remark, with a drawling and hesi- 
tating emphasis bestowed on the last three words, she 
walked at the side of Mr. Marshfield, and descended with 
him into the cabin. 


CHAPTER XYIIL 

The next morning, agreeably to what Mr. Marshfield 
had before promised, Agnes had the pleasure of being 
formally introduced to Mr. Stanley. She rejoiced to find 
that she was able to approach him with that easy famil- 
iarity which we always feel in the presence of those whose 
qualities of mind and disposition are congenial with our 
own. There seemed to be the enjoyment in her presence 
of the same kind of ease and freedom on his part. He 
drew near to her with the most cordial greeting, seated 
himself at her side, and declared how much reason he had 
to be glad of an introduction which he hoped would be 
productive of mutual gratification and benefit. He then, 
with parental feeling and politeness, put the hand of his 
daughter into hers, and exhorted them both to a nearer ac- 
quaintance. “ You must love her, Letitia,” said he to his 
child, “ as your friend and companion, and no doubt Miss 
Agnes will love you in return.” 

“ I will certainly not fail to obey your instructions,” said 
Letitia, “so far as it is in my power. But you know, 
father, that my love for you and my dear departed mother 


OR WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


101 


ha’s been so great, that perhaps I may not have enough to 
spare to win from this lady a proper feeling of love in re- 
turn.” 

Mr. Stanley appeared to be deeply affected with the 
words which had so frankly and tenderly fallen from the 
lips of his child. He paused, as if in some doubt how to 
frame an answer to her remarks, and was seen to raise his 
hand to his eyes, engaged in brushing away an unbidden 
tear which he was anxious to conceal from the observation 
of his companions. Agnes was prompt in taking advan- 
tage of this short pause to put in an answer herself, which 
she saw at once would be the best means of freeing the 
tender parent from his sudden embarrassment. 

‘‘ Do not. Miss Letitia, feel the least concerned on my 
account,” she proceeded immediately to say. “ Your warm 
affection expressed for your parents is to me the surest 
guarantee of a love you are no doubt able to extend to all. 
You may not, indeed, love others with the same fervor and 
devotion, nor is it expected that you should do so ; but if 
the stream should not be so deep, there is every reason to 
believe that it will be equally clear and transparent.” 

That is very well said,” rejoined Mr. Marshfield. Our 
love, in this life, cannot always be expected to burn with 
equal ardor, nor does it flow out in equal portions at all 
times and under all circumstances. A love so equal and 
unbounded may perhaps characterize the feelings of angels, 
but never, I think, the bosoms of mortals in a world so im- 
perfect and disordered as our own.” 

That men and angels love in the same way, and from 
the same motives,” answered Agnes, “I imagine is hardly 
possible, since the love of one is only natural and the other 
is spiritual. One individual may love another most fer- 
vently, although he may very well believe that the object of 
his love is possessed of many qualities that are unamiable 
and hateful. It is the angels alone who love constantly, 
impartially, and truly.” 

“And yet there is something noble in human love,” said 
Mr. Marshfield, “ even when it is expended on an unworthy 
object.” 

“ I believe you are right,” answered Agnes. “ But the 
true reason is, because human love, no matter how it is ex- 
ercised, corresponds with celestial love. We seem to be so 

9 * 


102 


UENRY COURTLANI) ; 


constituted that we admire what is good, even when we 
feel that good in us to be egregiously distorted and per- 
verted.” 

“You do not mean,” said Mr. Marshfield, “that we ad- 
mire what is insincere and hypocritical?” 

“ Not exactly that,” replied Miss Russell, “ although I 
mean something that, on investigation, perhaps, will be 
thought to be not very far from it. For instance, who does 
not admire the virtues of politeness and the graces of 
elegant manners? These would seem to have constituted 
nearly the whole drift of Chesterfield’s philosophical sys- 
tem. And yet we all know that these virtues may be ex- 
ercised from motives which, so far from being humble and 
charitable, are in a supreme degree selfish, worldly, and 
hypocritical.” 

“ But,” observed Mr. Marshfield, “that would only be 
in cases where the exercise of these virtues would be sim- 
ulated and insincere.” 

“ Then,” replied Agnes, “ I am afraid there is very 
little sincerity in the world. We are all in the habit of 
making use of phrases and gestures, the true meaning of 
which we never take the least pains to understand. The 
man who writes a challenge to his bitterest enemy, and 
whose blood he is thirsting for with a fiendish appetite, 
will commence his murderous note of defiance by making 
use of the words dear sir ; and his enemy, who is willing to 
seek his opponent’s life in the same way, will agree to 
these terms of massacre by signing himself his obedient 
servant, or by making use of some set phrase equally polite 
and obliging. Now, this kind of language runs through the 
whole alphabet of genteel manners in society, and yet no 
one thinks for a moment that he has departed from the cor- 
rect standard of truth. ]5ut upon my word,” said Agnes 
turning her face toward Mr. Stanley, and looking at him 
with an apologetic expression of her whole person, “ here is 
our friend, Mr. Stanley, listening to a dry and tedious discus- 
sion, which must tax his patience almost beyond endurance, 
and neither of us has thought of exercising that very 
politeness toward him, by apologizing for our conduct, 
which we pretend to say is so common in the world. I 
am afraid, Mr. Marshfield, that you and I are not only des- 
titute of those very principles of politeness which all are in 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


103 


the habit of observing, because all believe them to be es- 
sential, as society is at present constituted, to our ease 
and enjoyment at least, if not to our permanent happi- 
ness, but that we are in reality unconsciously selfish and 
stupid.” 

Mr. Stanley had been listening to Agnes with fixed and 
almost breathless attention, and when these last remarks 
had raised him to a still higher pitch of interest, he could 
not but gaze on her with surprise. But it was not so 
much the force of her arguments, or the fluency of her lan- 
guage, that gave such a deep interest to her discourse. 
These undoubtedly were somewhat remarkable, considering 
that they proceeded from a young lady who, as he had 
been informed by Mr. Marshfield, made no great preten- 
sions either to wisdom or learning. But there was some- 
thing in her conversation, apart from these, which had a 
tendency to elicit the profoundest attention from those who 
were brought to listen to her remarks. The matter, indeed, 
was grave, and her language not unfrequently lofty and 
original, but at the same time her manner was so easy and 
graceful, and her elocution so simple and unconstrained, 
making music like a clear stream purling over rocks and 
water-falls, that all who heard her were charmed with the 
pleasure her natural ease and simplicity occasioned. 

In reply to the remarks she had just concluded, and 
which Avere more particularly addressed to the ears of Mr. 
Stanley, that gentleman merely remarked that “ he thought 
no apology at all was necessary for the conversation, to 
which he had been listening with deep interest.” 

Well,” said Agnes, “ I would much rather listen to the 
loud dashing of the waves, and the hoarser prattle of the 
ocean. I can feel,” she continued, “ that the sea is becom- 
ing rough, and that the billows are tossing fiercer and 
higher. I think we shall all be made sensible of that be- 
fore long, even should we resolve to remain here below in 
our state-rooms. But come, Letitia,” she said, seizing hold 
of her young friend’s arm, and slipping it into her own, 
“ we will mount on deck, and witness the sublimity of air, 
ocean, and skies, while it is still in our power.” 

So saying, she glided with her companion from out the 
cabin, and in a moment afterward she and Miss Stanley 
were together walking on the deck. The weather had 


104 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


changed considerably since the preceding day. The wind 
was high, and, as Agnes had remarked, the surface of the 
sea began to swell with turbulent motion, so as to make it 
difficult for the young ladies to maintain a precisely erect 
position in the movements of their promenade. 

“ This is grand ! this is sublime !” exclaimed Agnes. 
“ It makes us feel that we too can war with the elements. 
See how the white-caps are mustering their forces, as if 
preparing to vindicate the authority of the ocean. And 
far away yonder is a fishing smack, which looks no larger 
than an infant’s cradle ; but it rocks a thousand times 
more furiously. It seems to me it would require but little 
additional force to tip it over completely, which would be 
a noble revenge for the cruelty with which it preys on the 
finny tribes below. Perhaps, if they could speak, they 
would pronounce it to be but a just turning of the tables. 
Then instead of fishes becoming food for men, men would 
become food for fishes. But hold up, my dear Letitia. I 
do not intend, if I can help it, that you shall fall over- 
board ; for if you did, I am afraid we have no one on deck 
sufficiently brain-sick to venture his worthless life for your 
sake. The dolphins would catch you, and eat you, too, 
before there would be time to muster a single hero to the 
rescue. There again ! Why, my child, you are becoming 
as helpless as a floating wreck on the edge of a whirlpool. 
This is what I alluded to awhile ago. We must now 
submit to that terrible disease called sea-sickness. But let 
us not surrender to the enemy without making at least 
some show of resistance. Perhaps our treatment will be 
the better if we attempt to fight it out, even if we should 
be taken prisoners. Let the old gentlemen below lay 
down their arms, and surrender at discretion. I guess 
they have already been taken captive by the enemy. But 
it becomes young soldiers like us only to submit to the foe 
when resistance is no longer possible.” 

It was in language like this that Agnes Russell, in her 
more careless moments, was capable of beguiling her own 
sorrows, and of exhibiting that gayety and lightness of 
spirits, which she was possessed of, constitutionally, in so 
eminent a degree. But poor Letitia Stanley was far from 
being equal to the task, which seemed so remarkably to 
suit her companion, and for the performance of which she 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


105 


was urged, as we have seen, to summon all her energies. 
She groaned mournfully under the sickening nausea that 
now began to disturb her stomach, and seemed more and 
more to be giving way to that helpless and desperate 
languor which is so peculiar to the discouraging attack of 
sea-sickness. '' I cannot, my dear Miss Bussell, I cannot 
proceed any further,” was her constant cry. “ Do let me 
escape to my room below, or I shall sink overpowered in 
the presence of these unfeeling spectators. Oh, believe 
me, I am sicker now than I ever was before in my life. 
My sickness is truly painful and cruel.” 

“Well, well!” replied Agnes, coolly. “I think I am 
able to sympathize with you, for I believe my own case is 
becoming quite as bad as yours. And yet, as I said, I am 
bound to fight it out. But you are completely vanquished, 
I find, and it becomes my melancholy duty to carry you 
off the field. There, now, let me lay hold of your helpless 
body. I must preserve you from the impious triumph of 
the enemy.” So saying, she caught her young friend 
round the waist, and with a strength and agility that was 
truly remarkable in a person so delicate and slender, she 
carried rather than led her down into the cabin. 

But in a moment afterward Agnes was again on deck. 
She seemed bent on adhering strictly to her resolution to 
fight it out. Her sufferings were no doubt unpleasant and 
peculiar, but she strove to resist their further violence by 
inhaling the fresh breeze that now curled the ocean into 
rude waves, or to forget them in the contemplation of the 
lofty grandeur by which she was surrounded. “I am fond 
of looking at this war of the elements,” said she to herself. 
“ The winds blow and the waves rise and fall with just 
sufficient uproar to interest my imagination without excit- 
ing my fears. The sails are bent to nearly the utmost of 
their capacity, and the ropes are as tight as if they were 
held down by a windlass. How gallantly the noble vessel 
stems the conflicting forces of these mighty waves! She 
rides forward like the brave strong man, whose lofty crest 
is exposed to the pelting of the pitiless storms of life. The 
billows crowd upon her from every direction ; but she ap- 
pears to exult ill her ability to pass safely over them all, 
and to reach at last some secure port where she will find 
safety and shelter. Forward! forward! my brave and 


106 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


gallant ship! Though surrounded by the tempest, there 
is an unseen hand which is safely guiding you through its 
distresses and perils.” 

During this animated soliloquy Agnes stood near the 
prow of the lofty vessel, and had her eyes steadfastly fixed 
on the shrouds and canvas that carried her through the 
deep so rapidly. There can be no doubt that she harbored 
in her mind an indistinct impression that her own course 
was not unlike that of the noble ship in which she was 
sailing. She felt that there were dangers on all sides 
through which she was compelled to pass, but for the 
bearing of which she confidently trusted she would be 
supplied with strength sufficient for every emergency. 
She thanked Giod that if she had to contend with the 
rough surges of the agitated ocean, she had the assurance 
of being well taken care of, and that she might rest with 
perfect safety on His arm in the midst of all her sorrows 
and difficulties. 

Fortified with this belief, she found her way slowly to 
the cabin, where nearly all her fellow-passengers had long 
ago submitted to the common foe, whom they reluctantly 
acknowledged to be their rightful conqueror. She surveyed 
the persons around her with a half-pitiful and half-comical 
eye. But feeling that she was in no condition to render 
them assistance, and that her own case required all the 
attention she was able to bestow on it, she retired to her 
state-room, and remained there, sometimes awake, and 
sometimes in dreamy forgetfulness, during the tedious 
hours of the following night. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


lot 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The next morning, if there was less noise there was 
perhaps not less sickness among the passengers. Agnes 
endeavored to rouse herself from an uneasy slumber, into 
which, after a restless night, she had fallen from mere ex- 
haustion ; but she felt stupid and miserable. She was in 
that wu’etched condition that is always the consequence of 
sleepless pain and anxiety. She raised her head from her pil- 
low, but the little apartment in which she lay appeared to 
carry her around with the utmost degree of velocity. And 
yet, after recalling her scattered thoughts, she could not 
but believe that she felt considerably b^etter than she had 
done the night before. At that moment the stewardess 
appeared at her bedside, inquiring if she could render her 
any assistance. 

“None whatever,” said Agnes. “You may leave me 
to my sickness and misery.” 

“ But,” rejoined the stewardess, “ perhaps the lady 
would like to have something to eat or something to 
drink.” 

“Away I away!” cried Agnes, pettishly. “Do not, I 
pray you, talk of eating or drinking in my presence.” 

“ I might, for all,” said the importunate menial, “ make 
you something that would do you good, — if I could only 
find out what you wanted.” 

“ I want nothing,” replied Agnes again, in a voice that 
was none of the blandest. 

“ Something to drink,” said her kind visitor. Just as she 
was about to leave the room, with her hand on the latch of 
the door. 

“ I repeat again,” replied Agnes, with a turn of her 
head on the pillow, “that I want nothing.” But as soon 
as her head had acquired a new position her eye rested 
on a small vial standing on the table before her, and from 
which she had more than once attempted to gain some 
relief during the previous night. “ Stop!” she exclaimed 


108 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


suddenly to her visitor. “Be good enough to shake the 
contents of this vial thoroughly, and then let me try what 
virtue there is in a teaspoonful this morning.” 

“I thought you wanted something,” said the marine 
domestic, with her eyes uncommonly dilated at the pros- 
pect of having her proffered services appreciated. “But 
I have a cure in my pocket,” she continued, “that may 
help the operation of your own medicine. We always 
giv^e it to passengers when they are sea-sick, and it is 
said to be the grandest medicine that can be used either 
by lady or gentleman.” 

Agnes gazed for a moment on the person of her officious 
attendant, who now seemed to be making a tender of her 
services both as a nurse and a physician. The countenance 
of the woman indicated honesty and simplicity, in which 
the sick girl made up her mind at once to confide. 

“Your intentions appear to be kind and benevolent,” 
said Agnes, “and I strongly believe you wish to do me 
good. This medicine you have given to others besides 
myself?” 

“ To a great many,” said the kind-hearted woman. “ To 
all who are willing to believe that it may do them good ; 
but I never force it on any one.” 

“Nor shall you force it on me,” replied Agnes. “I 
take it as freely as you offer it. But perhaps it would be 
better that I should receive it separately from you, and 
not make it a part of my own remedy.” 

“ That,” said her visitor, “ I am sure will make no dif- 
ference. Here, swallow it down. I don’t care mueh how 
it gets there, only so that it reaches your stomach.” 

So saying, she let fall a few drops of her own medicine 
into the spoon, which she had already filled from the vial 
that stood on the table, and Agnes swallowed it without 
the least resistance. The servant now withdrew from the 
apartment, only cautioning her patient not to attempt to 
rise until she should pay her a second visit. 

In a few minutes after her attendant had retired Agnes 
began to feel decidedly better. Instead of the unpleasant 
nausea that had caused her so much uneasiness, she ex- 
perienced a burning sensation at the pit of her stomach, 
which, though sharp for a time, she found soon afterward 
to become pleasant and agreeable. A moist glow then 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


109 


diffused itself over her whole body, and she fell into a 
profound sleep. How long she remained in this condition 
she could not tell, but when she waked she was sensible 
of being another person. Her first idea was to rise at 
once, and proffer her assistance to those who might not 
be so fortunate as herself in the means of their recovery. 
But she remembered that the kind visitor, who had ap- 
parently been the instrument of restoring her again to 
health, had forbidden her to rise until she should have an 
opportunity of paying another visit to her apartment. 
She accordingly made no effort to rise, and waited with 
patience until her expected visitor made her appearance. 

‘‘Are you better?” were the first words uttered by the 
servant as she entered the room. “ But I see you are,” 
she continued, without giving Agnes time to reply. “ Now 
you may get up, and I will furnish you with something to 
eat that will make you feel still better and stronger.” 

Agnes rose and dressed herself. Her appetite, of course, 
was not good, but she made out to drink all the liquid that 
was set on the table, and was able to dispatch the greater 
part of the contents that filled a plate that was set before 
her. She found by this time that she was not only re- 
lieved from the unpleasant effects of her sickness, but that 
she was really ten times more light-hearted than she had 
been since she first entered the vessel. But she was earn- 
estly bent on finding out, in the mean time, how her com- 
panions in sickness were bearing their share of the common 
burden. With this view she tripped across the cabin, and 
knocked lightly at the door of her young friend. Miss 
Stanley. 

A low sepulchral voice bade her come in. Agnes ran to 
the couch of the young lady, took her by the hand, and 
asked her how she did. “ Poorly,” replied the innocent 
sufferer. “Oh, Agnes, I am very sick!” Agnes burst 
into a fit of laughter. “You see,” observed Agnes, “ that 
you submitted too easily to the enemy last evening, and 
now you are annoyed by a thousand disagreeable quirks 
and pains that are unmercifully pinching and tearing your 
frame like the cruel pricking of so many fairies.” 

Letitia uttered not a word in reply. This silence was 
interrupted by Agnes. “ I am going,” said she, “ to visit 
vour father and Mr. Marshfield. Now be a good girl, and 

10 


110 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


swallow this tincture, which I took care to provide m^^self 
with before I left home. There, now, I hope you will feel 
better. In a few minutes I will return, and you must be 
prepared by that time to walk with me, in order that you 
may render those services to your parent w^hich, in all 
probability, he feels the want of at present,” 


CHAPTER XX. 

Agnes now left the apartment of her friend, in order to 
inquire, if practicable, into the condition of the young lady’s 
father and Mr. Marshfield. But a difficulty presented 
itself at the very outset, in consequence of her not being in- 
formed of the number and position of the state-room occu- 
pied by these two gentlemen. While gazing, however, in 
a direction where she thought they were most likely to be 
lodged, her attention w^as attracted by the appearance of a 
boy, who seemed to be strolling carelessly in that part of 
the vessel, from berth to berth, as if he took delight in 
listening to the expressions of pain and helplessness which, 
in many instances, so ludicrously saluted his ears as he 
passed along the remote gangway. The boy’s countenance 
indicated a disposition not wdiolly exempt from mischief, 
wdiile at the same time it gave evident tokens of a mind 
that had, in all probability, felt and thought much more 
deeply than is consistent with the freedom and unconcern 
of one so young and apparentl}^ so inexperienced. But it 
betrayed no malevolence, no deceit, and no marks of a rep- 
robate and hardened temper. 

“ My good boy,” said she, “yonder is the room of my 
friend, Mr. Marshfield, the knowledge of which I have just 
obtained from other passengers. Now do be kind enough 
to knock at the door, and say that Miss Russell wishes to 
see him.” 

“ All right,” replied the boy ; “ yet you see there is some 
danger too that one of those surly fellows within, who do 
not choose to be disturbed on account of mere trifles, might 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


Ill 


take it into his head to begin to knock in his turn, and then 
might knock my brains out before I could find an oppor- 
tunity of explaining my own intentions.’’ 

“ I hope no one would be so bad as that,” answered 
Agnes, “ and I am sure I may safely promise so much for 
Mr. Marshfield. Besides, if my judgment does not mislead 
me, I think you are something of a hero, and would will- 
ingly perform some good service for a lady, even if you 
were certain that by doing so you were incurring a slight 
risk in her behalf.” 

The boy’s eyes sparkled, and casting an approving 
glance on Agnes, he passionately exclaimed, “ Oh, but you 
remind me of my mother I” Then promptly directing his 
steps toward the apartment of Mr. Marshfield, he paused 
in front of it, and gave a gentle rap at the door. 

At first no one answered, and Molton Fairview (for that 
was the name of the boy) was compelled to knock again. 
He was now made sensible of distinct and piteous moan- 
ings from within, which told him, as plainly as moanings 
could tell, that the ship’s cruel malady was doing its work 
there too. He next proceeded with great caution to open 
the door. But the moment his eyes caught a glimpse of 
the interior, he drew back his person with a sudden jerk, 
and burst into a fit of laughter. 

‘‘ I tell you,” he said, advancing to the spot where 
Agnes was standing, “they are just as strangely and as 
comically paired together as ever you saw two persons in 
your life. They are a couple of strange figures.” 

“ A couple of what ?” rejoined Agnes, with some eager- 
ness to ascertain his meaning. 

“A couple of gentlemen,” answered the boy. “But 
you never saw such a spectacle. Why, they are sitting 
together at the same table, moaning and groaning, and 
staring at each other with dull faces, like children who are 
looking at the babies in each other’s eyes.” 

“I am sure,” said Agnes, “that I do not exactly under- 
stand you.” 

“ Well, then,” replied the boy, “you may go and look for 
yourself. I guess it would be just as proper for you to 
enter as myself. And although I am little concerned about 
the abuse, or even the blows, they might see fit to shower 
on me, yet I am fully persuaded that it would not only be 


112 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


better, but that it would likewise be safer, for you to visit 
them than it would be for me.” 

Agnes hesitated no longer about the course she ought 
to pursue. Advancing in a straight line toward the door 
of Mr. Marshfield’s room, she knocked slightly, and then 
made a more direct request with her voice to be admitted. 
This last appeal had its desired effect. “ Come in !” was 
uttered by one of the inmates in a tone of impatience, and 
with a sign of exhaustion which only too plainly declared 
the sickness and distress of the sufferer. 

The determined girl now entered boldly into the apart- 
ment. But the spectacle that met her eyes was more comic- 
ally distressing, as well as more positively ridiculous, than 
anything she could have imagined from the hints thrown 
out by the boy who made the first exploration The room 
was characterized by all the misery, with none of the clean- 
liness, usually found in the cells of a hospital. A small 
table was drawn to the center, on one side of which sat 
Mr. Marshfield and on the other Mr. Stanley. But the 
tout ensemble consisted more especially of the respective 
positions, the haggard countenances, and the strange dis- 
ordered costumes of these two individuals. A dirty white 
and green night-cap, composed of some kind of net-work, 
adorned the crest of Mr. Marshfield, but which was entirely 
too small for that gentleman’s head. His outer garments 
consisted of a coarse, blue jerkin, with wide corduroy trou- 
sers, the former hanging round him as loose as the flow- 
ing drapery of a Turk, and the latter answering all the 
purposes of a marine equipment for a sailor. His neck 
was muffled as usual by a red silk handkerchief, but ad- 
justed so carelassly about him on the present occasion 
that he resembled a person who had just been relieved 
from a fainting fit, and whose bandages had been un- 
fastened in order to afford him a more free opportunity of 
breathing. He lacked the comfortable appendage of an 
under vest, and had on his feet a pair of red slippers. 

Mr. Stanley was dressed more appropriately, but with 
scarcely more care or attention. Everything about him 
appeared to be tumbled and disordered. His hat was de- 
posited at his side, on the floor, and his hair appeared to 
be as much matted and tangled together as if it had not 
been combed for a month. His neck-cloth stood awry 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


113 


about his neck, and the bosom of his shirt was stained, 
rumpled, and dirty. He looked very much like a man who 
might have been reveling late over his cups at night, 
and who had been sleeping off his debauch with his clothes 
on. 

But the singularity of their appearance was rendered 
the more remarkable on account of their haggard, half- 
starved, care-worn countenances, and the social attitude 
they had assumed toward each other. We have already 
said they were seated on each side of a small table, placed 
in the center of the room. Mr. Marshfield lay with one 
side of his face flat to the table, his arms dangling down 
at the sides until they nearly touched the floor. Mr. Stan- 
ley, in a reverse attitude, sustained his head with his hands, 
supporting the whole weight on his elbows. In this posi- 
tion they seemed to be staring at each other alternately, as 
if craving or hoping for reciprocal assistance, but without 
either of them uttering aught but indistinct groans and 
complaints. The boy, as we have seen, thought they 
were occupied in looking into each other’s eyes. 

As soon as Agnes had entered the room of Mr. Marsh- 
field in the manner we have related above, and fully com- 
prehended the situation of the parties she found there, she 
addressed them in the following language : 

“ Pardon me, my friends, for this sudden intrusion on 
your privacy, but I have been diligently inquiring after 
you for the last two hours, and here I have found you at 
last.” 

“Ah !” exclaimed Mr. Marshfield. 

“Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Stanley. 

“And you are both sick, and both found together.” 

“Both !” muttered Mr. Marshfield, raising his long arms, 
and looking languidly up into her face. 

“Very sick indeed!” said Mr. Stanley, throwing his 
head back, and turning up the whites of his eyes, as if 
they had been disturbed in their sockets by a fit of the 
nightmare. 

“ Oh come ! come!” cried Agnes. “I myself have been 
sick, and you see me here as well as ever. It has passed 
off like a charm. Your daughter Letitia has been as sick 
as any of us, but I’ll venture to say, by taking my ad- 

10 * 


114 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


vice she is now as sound as the timbers of this noble 
ship.” 

At the mention of his daughter’s name, Mr. Stanley 
fairly rose from the table, drawing his friend, as by mag- 
netic attraction, to his feet with him. 

Agnes perceived at once that she had gained an advan- 
tage that must not be relinquished. “ Come !” she ex- 
claimed, “you shall both go with me. Miss Stanley is 
waiting for you in her own room, and may run some risk 
of relapsing into her former miserable sickness unless we 
all go there to encourage and cheer her.” 

“ Well, then,” said Mr. Marshfield, “go to Miss Stanley, 
continue to encourage and comfort her, and tell her that 
her father and m3"self will very shortly come in person to 
inquire of her welfare.” 

“ Good !” replied Miss Russell. “ But you must now 
keep moving about briskly, otherwise the ugly demon, 
from whom you have just escaped, may still continue to 
hold you in his grasp.” Having uttered these words, the 
sprightly girl glided from the apartment, and in a moment 
afterward was in the room of her friend. Miss Stanley. 

As she entered the apartment, and approached her 
young friend, she saw at once that a change for the bet- 
ter — just such a change as Agnes herself had been plan- 
ning — had taken place in her appearance. Soon after- 
ward they both had the additional gratification of receiving 
the anticipated visit of Letitia’s father and Mr. Marsh- 
field. Agnes gloried in the effect she had so happily 
brought about by her energetic skill and management. 
She had roused her patients from languor and inaction to 
a confident reliance on their own inherent strength and 
power of resistance, 'and having accomplished this pur- 
pose, she knew their disease was permanently vanquished, 
and that a few hours more would see them as healthy and 
happy as ever. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


115 


CHAPTER XXL 

We must now return to the adventures of our young 
friend Harry Courtland. He continued to travel for two 
days, on his return homeward, without meeting with any 
incident of sufficient importance to engage his attention. 
On the third day, however, he reached a public house at 
noon, where he resolved to stop an hour or two, for the 
purpose of refreshing himself and his horses. He had not 
been long at the inn before a four-horse stage drew up to 
the door, which appeared to be crowded with passengers. 
When these had alighted, amid a good deal of vulgar 
slang, that was uttered in no stinted measure, it was found 
that the passengers, with the exception of two ladies, were 
men of a very coarse and very reckless appearance. The 
ladies entered the apartment in which Harry was engaged, 
before a cheerful fire, in reading a newspaper. 

Harry at first felt little interest in the arrival of the two 
ladies, who, as that was not the house at which the pas- 
sengers usually dined, he supposed would remain no longer 
than until the driver had done watering his horses, and 
would then resume their seats for the further progress of 
their journey. But his attention was soon attracted by 
hearing the elder lady, in a voice, however, which she 
evidently did not intend for his own ear, address her com- 
panion in the following language : 

“ I cannot, my dear, endure the rudeness of these vulgar 
people any longer. I am not afraid of them, but I certainly 
feel highly disgusted with their conduct and behavior. I 
am sure that you too must labor under the same kind of 
feelings. Do you not think it would be better for us to 
remain here until the next stage passes, when, in all proba- 
bility, we shall meet with better company at least, if not 
with a better stage and a more careful driver?’’ 

“ I have nothing to oppose to your wishes, mother,” re- 
plied the younger traveler. “These men are certainly rude 
and uncivil, and the stage is anything but comfortable. I 


116 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


should suppose we will meet with reasonably good enter- 
tainment at this house, and, as we are both somewhat 
fatigued, we shall feel all the better for resting until to- 
morrow.” 

'‘Driver!” cried the elder lady, who now advanced to 
the door, in front of which the stage was standing, “ be 
good enough to have our baggage delivered to the land- 
lord in the bar-room. It is not our intention t,o go any 
farther to-day.” 

The driver did not attempt to inquire into the reason of 
this determination on the part of the lady, his own con- 
jectures, no doubt, readily leading him to a knowledge of 
its true cause. The landlord bustled about to see that the 
instructions given to the driver were complied with; the 
luggage was taken down from the stage, and the ladies 
retired to another apartment in order to prepare for dinner. 

Harry saw nothing more of the two ladies until nearly 
the hour of dining ; but having laid aside their traveling 
dresses, and disrobed themselves of much of that superfluous 
drapery which had previously served to conceal as well as 
to protect their persons, he was now very favorably struck 
with their carriage and appearance. The elder lady, who 
looked as if she might be fifty years of age, possessed a 
countenance of superior dignity, and still retained in her 
face much of that bloom and freshness which belongs 
more exclusively to females of early youth and expanding 
beauty. Her companion, who was her daughter, might 
have been fast verging on twenty ; but, although so much 
younger, appeared less delicately and symmetrically formed 
than her mother, and scarcely exhibited the same amount 
of color in her cheeks. But she manifested the same 
graceful dignity in her movements, and the same mild 
good sense in the expression of her countenance, and in 
the remarkably soft luster of her eyes. In one particular, 
however, the appearance of her face differed very much 
from that of her mother. The looks of the latter, when 
not engaged in conversation, would sometimes betray a 
feeling within that was not only grave, but melancholy. 
Those of the former, on the contrary, were uniformly lit 
up with a light that was cheerful, and not unfrequently 
gay and frolicsome. 

The three guests were entertained together at the same 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 1 ]^ 

table, apart from the members composing the landlord’s 
family. 

“I think, my dear Virginia,” said the mother to her 
daughter, “ we have but fifty miles yet to travel in order 
fully to complete our journey. It may be that we shall 
arrive at Ashford by to-morrow at noon.” As soon as 
the lady had pronounced the word Ashford, Harry raised 
his eyes, and looked her directly in the face. “ If we 
could but get word to our friend,” she continued, “in 
all probability she would contrive to send some kind 
of conveyance for us by which we might reach our old 
home without putting ourselves to much further incon- 
venience.” 

Again Harry’s eyes met those of the lady’s, his face 
became flushed, and he evidently felt a lively interest in 
the words that dropped from her lips. This the lady 
seemed now to perceive, and fixing her look on him with 
an earnestness which was scarcely less than that of his own, 
after some hesitation she was induced to inquire whether 
he resided in that neighborhood, or whether his home was 
in some other part of the State. 

“ I live in County,” he replied, “ not far from a 

farm which is known by the name of Ashford, a name 
which I was somewhat surprised to hear you mention 
only a few minutes ago.” 

“And your name?” inquired the lady, eagerly. 

“My name,” said Harry, rising at the same moment from 
his chair, as if roused by a confused and sudden recollec- 
tion, and extending his hand instinctively to the lady, “is 
Harry Courtland.” 

“Good Heavens!” cried the astonished female, “do I, 
indeed, see the son of my old friend here before me ? Is 
it possible that this is Harry Courtland, the boy who, ten 
3^ears ago, used to fetch me butter and cream from his 
mother’s dairy ? Do you recognize him, my child ?” she 
■ continued, turning round, and addressing her daughter. 

“ I felt as if I knew him half an hour ago,” answered the 
younger female, “ but the feeling was like a dream, so 
faint and indistinct that I was at a loss to know how to 
account for it.” 

“And I,” said Harry, shaking her warmly by the hand, 
“ was affected a good deal in the same way, experiencing 


118 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


sensations in my mind as if I were suddenly realizing long- 
forgotten associations, yet regarding the whole as a pass- 
ing vision that had no real existence.” 

The three friends were now earnest in their hearty re- 
cognition of each other, and overjoyed at the apparent acci- 
dent which had thus brought them together. 

It becomes necessary here that we should inform our 
readers of a few particulars concerning the two travelers 
with whom we have just made them acquainted. The 
name of these ladies was Truehope. The mother, at an 
early day, had married an English gentleman who pos- 
sessed a small landed estate in the neighborhood of Court- 
land Hall, which he called Ashford, but which he did not 
live many years to enjoy. He died young, and left Mrs. 
Truehope a widow with two daughters, the eldest of whom, 
named Clara, was considerably older than her sister. It 
was not long after her father’s death that Clara was mar- 
ried to a young Englishman, who had for several years 
been intimate in the family of her parents, but who was 
never a favorite of Mrs. Truehope. After this marriage, 
being proud and high-spirited, and feeling that she had 
given offense to her mother, whom she loved with true 
affection, and who as tenderly loved her in return, Clara 
removed with her husband to the City of New York. He 
succeeded in establishing himself in business in this great 
commercial metropolis, but a monetary crisis soon after 
ensued, and the poor man, with thousands of others who, 
like himself, had commenced the world without capital, 
was ultimately obliged to confide the settlement of his 
affairs to the mercy of his creditors. At first Clara had 
carried on an uninterrupted correspondence with her 
mother, but as the affairs of her husband darkened, and 
the prospect before her became more and more gloomy, 
her hopes forsook her, and she was too high-minded to com- 
municate to her, whom she imagined she had already suffi- 
ciently grieved, a history of her sufferings and misfortunes. 
The consequence was that all correspondence, on the part of 
Clara, entirely ceased, and her mother, after many months 
of suspense and conjecture, became wholly ignorant of 
even the neighborhood in which her daughter resided. 
All that she knew about her was that she had one son, an 
interesting child, who in many respects resembled' his 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 119 

mother, — but she was kept totally ignorant of what had 
become of him or his parents. 

This state of things had continued so long that Mrs. 
Truehope was at last induced to visit the City of New York 
in person, accompanied by her younger daughter, who was 
now about twelve years of age, for the purpose of ascer- 
taining, if possible, the exact truth in relation to the for- 
tune and circumstances of her elder child. But all her 
inquiries turned out to be vain and fruitless. At last she 
was told that a gentleman, answering the description of 
her son-in-law, with his wife and one child, had, some three 
or four years previously, left New York for England, and 
had not been heard of again since that period. Mrs. True- 
hope was a woman of great energy of character, and of re- 
markable steadfastness in the pursuit of any object calcu- 
lated to call forth her courage and resolution. She resolved, 
therefore, at once to cross over to England in search of her 
banished daughter. She had committed the management 
of her estate at Ashford to a trusty agent, who was to cor- 
respond with her as she might from time to time direct, 
and she had furnished herself with a sufficient sum of 
money to defray her own expenses and those of the child 
who accompanied her. She felt confident, besides, that on 
reaching England she would be kindly greeted by the 
friends of her lately deceased husband, and that she and 
her daughter might spend some time among them without 
being exposed to any outlay sufficiently weighty to diminish 
seriously the contents of her own purse. 

When she arrived in England all the inquiries she was 
able to make, and which others kindly made for her, ended 
as fruitlessly as they had done in the City of New York. 
No such person as her daughter and son-in-law could be 
found — no traces could be discovered of them in any direc- 
tion — and it was doubtful to most of her acquaintances 
whether any such persons had ever visited England. Mrs. 
Truehope was disappointed, but had no reason to regret 
the voyage she had made across the ocean. The friends 
of her late husband, whose memory they cherished with 
warm and respectful affection, treated her and her daughter 
with the utmost degree of tenderness and regard. They 
sympathized with them in all their sorrows, listened to all 
their little wants, and invariably respected them as mem- 


120 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


bers of their own families. So well pleased was Mrs. 
Trueliope with the treatment she received from her for- 
eign kinsfolk, that she was prevailed on at last to make 
her permanent home among them ; and it was only now, 
after an absence of nearly ten years, that she and her 
daughter were retracing their steps back again to their 
home in the State of New York, which was endeared to 
them by a thousand tender recollections, and where they 
hoped in time to lie down and rest from their worldly cares 
and sorrows. Such is a brief history of the two travelers 
who became so surprisingly associated with Harry Court- 
land at the inn on the roadside. 

It will be readily presumed that our three friends were 
not long in coming to an understanding about the manner 
in which, for the rest of their journey, they were to travel 
together to Courtland Hall. Harry, of course, invited Mrs. 
Truehope and her daughter to take seats with him in his 
carriage, which afforded ample accommodations for them- 
selves as well as their baggage, and which invitation they 
readily and thankfully accepted. It was agreed, however, 
that they would not resume their journey until next morn- 
ing. 

While thus resting and conversing at the inn, Mrs. 
Truehope and her daughter had, of course, many questions 
to put to Harry — many inquiries to make in regard to by- 
gone events — which he took great pleasure in answering, 
so far as it was in his power. But the principal part of 
their discourse had reference to Agnes Russell. 

“Ah, that charming girl !” exclaimed Mrs. Truehope, 
with an enthusiasm which seemed to give inspiration to 
every word she uttered, “ I remember her as well as if 
she were now standing directly in my presence. It was 
not that I loved her for her beauty, or for her intelligence, 
or for the rare accomplishments which a sainted mother 
had conferred on her person, — although these were suffi- 
ciently marked and strong to attract the attention of the 
most careless observer, especially when her extreme youth 
was taken into consideration. But it was the simplicity, 
and at the same time the shrewdness of her understand- 
ing, the playfulness of her humor, the stateliness and dig- 
nity of her deportment, — but above all, her constant en- 
deavor to make herself useful to all around her, without 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


121 


the least consciousness of superior merit on her part, that 
I so much admired. Pardon me, Mr. Courtland ! but in- 
deed, indeed, she seemed to me more like an an^el than 
a being like ourselves. And now this dear creature has 
in reality undertaken the mission of an angel. God speed 
her on her sainted errand, for I certainly have reason to 
believe that he, for whom she has so heroically undertaken 
it, is worthy I” Mrs. Truehope spoke with so much earn- 
estness, and so deeply felt the truth of what she uttered, 
that she found it necessary for a moment to turn away 
her face, in order to conceal the warm tears by which it 
was moistened. 

“I do not remember very much of Miss Agnes,” said 
her daughter, after a considerable pause, “ only that I 
have a distinct recollection of the respect and obedience 
she paid to her mother, and the anxiety she often showed 
that I too should never forget the debt I owed to my pa- 
rents. I remember, too, how fond she was of looking at 
the hills and mountains, and how often she would sit musing 
at the side of some murmuring stream, or would climb to 
the summit of some steep rock, while I was left to my 
own free choice of gathering wild flowers and wreathing 
my head with garlands. But she was always sure to join 
me in my sports at last, and would sometimes apologize 
for the neglect with which she was afraid I would think 
I had been treated.” 

It was thus the hours passed away on the afternoon of 
this sudden and remarkable reunion, each of the parties 
communicating and receiving from the others the recol- 
lections of old impressions, and the narration of events that 
had almost entirely faded from their memories. It was now 
drawing towards the month of December, and late in the 
afternoon, when the subjects discussed had become pretty 
well exhausted, Virginia Truehope was observed by Harry 
to be busy in collecting some faded plants and flowers 
which still preserved a languid existence in the little gar- 
den .attached to the inn at which they had made their tem- 
porary sojourn. Virginia has become an enthusiastic 
botanist,” said her mother, “ but you will learn more of 
her humor in this way after you shall grow better acquainted 
with her.” 

The next morning they breakfasted early, and were sodn 
11 


122 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


on the road leading to the neighborhood they were all anxious 
to reach. But a c )usiderable part of their journey re- 
mained yet to be accomplished. It was not until towards 
sunset of the following day that they came in sight of 
Courtland Hall. Mr. and Mrs. Courtland were standing 
under the portico, in front of the building, Rowland being 
employed in repairing and cleaning up the w'alks extend- 
ing from the house to the main road. 

“ This little hedge-row,” said Rowland, “ was planted 
and nursed by our poor Percy, and blow me if I don’t 
think it looks a good deal the worse since he left home, 
just as if it knew that no person could take so good care 
of it as himself. It is turning pale and unhealthy, as may 
be the case with the poor boy who has gone to seek his 
fortune so far away from home. This is a most uncertain 
and changeable world. To-day every object around us 
may be as bright as a burnished plowshare, and to-mor- 
row they may be like that same plowshare stuck deep 
into a stubborn furrow, and rusting just for want o'f some 
one to lift it out of the dirt. This world we live in, I tell 
you, is a very changeable world.” 

The aged couple standing under the portico, to whom 
these remarks were addressed, could not listen to them 
without deep feeling and concern. They were replied to, 
however, but very briefly, Mr. Courtland merely observ- 
ing, “ The world indeed is changeable, Rowland, but our 
hopes, if possible, should always remain the same.” 

“You are right,” answered Rowland, “for if we gave 
up our hopes we should forget Percy altogether.” Then 
happening to elevate his eyes in a direction towards the 
great public road leading past the farm, he exclaimed in 
the next instant, “ But see ! there comes Harry. Yes, 
that is Harry! But blow me,” he continued, as the car- 
riage drew nearer, and he had a more distinct view of its 
approaching passengers, “ if there is not Agnes Russell 
and our own courageous Maggy coming back again.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Courtland were strongly disposed to co- 
incide with Rowland in opinion. They were at a loss to 
account for the appearance of the two females, and were 
fearful that some accident had taken place on the road, 
that made it necessary for them to return again to their 
repective homes. But the carriage now stopped in front 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


123 


of the entrance that led up to the house, and Rowland was 
at the <^ate to welcome Harry after his long journey, and 
to offer his services in taking care of the horses while Harry 
assisted the ladies to alight. 

The two females,” said Mrs. Courtland, “can certainly 
be none other than Agnes and Maggy. And yet,” she 
continued after a moments pause, “ their persons do not 
seem to me to be exactly the same either.” 

“ I would think they were the same,” observed Mr. 
Courtland, “ only that Rowland appears to greet them in 
a manner not entirely consistent with the deportment he 
would in all probability observe towards Maggy.” 

“ I can see them plainer now,” said Mrs. Courtland, 
“ and I am convinced that our visitors are not the persons 
we at first supposed they were.” 

“ But who can they be ?” a.sked Mr. Courtland. 

“ We shall soon learn that now,” returned his compan- 
ion, “for they are coming forward, and are already inside 
of the gate.” 

Harry stepped between the two ladies, and each of them 
embraced the opportunity of taking his arm. When he 
arrived at the portico, as soon as he had saluted his 
parents, he presented his friends, but without mentioning 
their names. This had been previously arranged, for the 
purpose of .ascertaining how far they would be recognized 
by his father and mother. Mr. Courtland at first looked 
somewhat confused — stared at Virginia — smiled at Mrs. 
Truehope — but said nothing. Mrs. Courtland silently 
conducted the ladies into the parlor, invited them to be 
seated, and deliberately fixed her eyes first on one and 
then on the other. Virginia looked awkward and abashed, 
and her mother was about to speak, when Mrs. Courtland, 
as if awakened at once to a sense of some wmnderful real- 
ity, sprang suddenly forward, seized her round the neck, 
and bathed the face of her visitor with tears and kisses. 
“ It is, it is,” she exclaimed, “ my old friend, Mrs True- 
hope. I had long given you up for lost. How is it that 
you appear before us so wondrously, and under circum- 
stances I am so little able to understand ?” 

We will not trouble our readers with any further par- 
ticulars of this memorable meeting. Mr. Courtland, of 
course, greeted his old friend with a warmth equally 


124 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


strong and enthusiastic with that of his partner, protest- 
ing, however, what was certainly true, that he had a faint 
recollection of her all the while. A full explanation was 
gone into in relation to the prolonged absence of mother 
and daughter. Virginia, who continued unrecognized on 
account of the great change that had necessarily taken 
place in her person, was presented with all due formality, 
and the fortunate meeting at the inn between Harry and 
the two ladies was rehearsed with feelings of the most 
profound satisfaction on both sides. 

In a few days Mrs. Truehope and her daughter became 
completely domesticated in the family of Mr. Courtland. 
We have already mentioned that their farm at Ashford 
had been leased out to a tenant, and, until their return, 
had been under the management of a trusty agent, who 
had discharged his duties with probity and skill highly 
complimentary to his character. But Mrs. Truehope now 
determind, from considerations of economy, that the farm 
in future should be placed under her own exclusive and 
personal attention. In the mean time she received a press- 
ing invitation from Mr. and Mrs, Courtland to make their 
house a home for herself and daughter, until the lease of 
the tenant who occupied the land should expire, or until 
they should make some other arrangement that would ac- 
cord better with their wishes. This invitation was kindly 
and thankfully accepted. One of the most pleasant rooms 
in the house was assigned for their sole and separate use ; 
and, being fitted up in a style that suited them, they found 
themselves again sharing a hospitality that was the more 
pleasing because they knew it was perfectly unconstrained 
and voluntary. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO, 


125 


CHAPTER XXir. 

It was the very next day after the occnrrences we have 
undertaken to narrate above, that a gentleman of respect- 
able appearance was seen to ride deliberately up to the 
large gate fronting Courtland Hall, and, after alighting 
from his horse, enter the inclosure and walk up the beau- 
tiful avenue that led to the main entrance of the building. 
This gentleman had in his youth resided in the neighbor- 
hood which he was now induced again to visit from attach- 
ments that the long lapse of years could not effectually dis- 
place from his memory. In early life, like thousands of men 
in our country who have distinguished themselves as her 
best citizens and most successful benefactors, he had re- 
moved to a portion of our western territory, for the pur- 
pose of pushing his fortune there, and entering on a sphere 
of greater activity and more extensive usefulness. The 
measure of his prosperity in this new region was fully 
equal to his hopes and expectations. By a gradual ele- 
’ vation from comparative obscurity, he rose to occupy 
several'offices of the highest distinction and responsibility 
in the State, until at last he was placed at the very head 
of authority, and was called by the people to the honor- 
able post of filling the gubernatorial chair. He was not 
personally known to Mr. Courtland, but the recollection 
of his youth and enterprise continued to be fresh and un- 
fading in the minds of many of his old neighbors, and he 
was universally respected by all of them as a truly digni- 
fied, intelligent, and estimable man. The ex-governor rode 
that morning to the residence of Mr. Courtland alone. 
Although he had figured much in public life, he was still 
in the enjoyment of a vigorous manhood, undisturbed by 
age and unimpaired by sickness or infirmity. Mr. Court- 
land was seated in a neat apartment, fitted up for the pur- 
poses of a small but select library, when his guest arrived, 
and happening to spy his approach through the window, 
he went immediately to the door to receive him. His 

11 * 


126 


HENRY COURTLAND 


visitor, whom we shall designate by the name of Cart- 
wright, was politely invited by Mr. Courtland to enter the 
house, and was conducted by him to a seat in the little 
library. 

“ You must pardon me, Mr. Courtland,” said the ex-gover- 
nor, as soon as he had thrown off a very plain overcoat, and 
found himself seated at a comfortable fire, — “ you must par- 
don me for this intrusion, which in no case would hardly be 
justifiable except as between ourselves. You know me by 
reputation, perhaps, as I am happy to say I have in the same 
way lately become acquainted with you. My name is 
Cartwright, and I am now on a visit to this neighborhood 
with scarcely any other object in view than to unbend my 
mind by reviving old recollections, and to restore again 
the half-forgotten impressions that once so powerfully in- 
terested my childhood and youth. But it occurred to me 
a day or two ago that an object like this, the pursuit of 
which is usually attended with a good deal of leisure and 
idleness, might be made in addition to yield some practical 
instruction. You, sir, have the reputation of being a skill- 
ful and successful farmer. I myself feel a very deep in- 
terest in everything that relates to agriculture. I think 
you will now understand the purport of my visit. I have 
taken the liberty to call on you with as little ceremony as 
I would on one of my own neighbors living in the far 
West, and my whole object is to talk to you a little on the 
subject of practical farming.” 

Mr. Courtland acknowledged the high honor done him 
by a call from so distinguished a visitor, and especially 
for a purpose which seemed to imply the acknowledgment 
of his own skill as an agriculturist. He immediately gave 
his visitor the assurance of a warm welcome, ordered his 
horse to be put up, and declared how happy he would be if 
his humble attainments could in the least degree contribute 
either to his pleasure or instruction. 

“You are said to be one of the best farmers in this 
neighborhood,” said the ex-governor. “I myself am ex- 
tensively engaged in the same business, and would esteem 
it a great benefit could I carry home with me some new 
ideas on this important subject.” 

“ Perhaps, after all,” replied Mr. Courtland, “ the suc- 
cess of farming, like all other pursuits, must depend on 


^0R, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


12t 


the attachment and taste we cherish for it. What we 
love most we necessarily follow with the most ardor, and 
it will be found in nearly every instance that we shall 
prosecute it with the most success. Every kind of knowl- 
edge is easy to the man who is fond of its study. 

“Just so,” said the ex-governor, “ and for that very rea- 
son, if I am not wrongly informed, you are calculated to 
be one of the best instructors in the world. We, indeed, 
who look to you for instruction, may not yet have been 
able to form our tastes after a standard like your own ; 
but a few lessons, properly delivered and inculcated, may 
inspire us with a love and enthusiasm scarcely inferior to 
that which belongs to yourself. Like all other men who 
excel in some particular calling or profession, I presume 
you have adopted a few leading principles, the use of 
which you find to work so admirably, and the knowledge 
of which it is so easy for you to communicate to others.” 

“You are right,” rejoined Mr. Courtland. “And as 
much of our knowledge is acquired from the study and ap- 
plication of analogous subjects, one of the most useful 
principles in agriculture may be learned in the first in- 
stance from the study of the human mind. For example, 
there is an important truth in relation to the mind taught 
in the Bible, and perhaps by philosophers too (but of that 
I am not so certain), that we must cease to do evil before 
wm can learn to do well, — in other words, as I understand 
it, we must eject from our minds all those adverse affec- 
tions and thoughts which are opposed to true order, be- 
fore we can expect to live according to the laws which 
true order prescribes. This is the first step to be taken by 
a man who wnshes to become sincerely intelligent and 
wise. And precisely the same course must be pursued 
by the farmer, whose object is to change the condition and 
capability of his soil. He must first prepare it for orderly 
cultivation before he can expect to make it productive. 
He must begin by removing the stones, by destroying its 
hardness and tenacity, by draining it of its impurities 
and excesses, and must use every mechanical contrivance 
within his power to bring it to a condition of smoothness 
and mellowness. He may afterward inquire what it lacks, 
and may infuse into it, by artificial means, some properties 
which are known to be useful as important helps to the 


128 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


growth and fruitfulness of plants. Having taken these 
preliminary steps, there will be little to trouble him sub- 
sequently, when he comes to sow his seed, and he may con- 
fidently calculate on good crops and abundant harvests.” 

“It would seem, then,” answered Governor Cartwright, 
“that your chief dependence is on making a good begin- 
ning.” 

“ Precisely so,” said Mr. Courtland, “ for that is the 
secret of success in almost everything. A well-behaved, 
industrious, and attentive boy will make a virtuous, use- 
ful, and respectable man. A thrifty and well-conditioned 
young steer will make a large and profitable ox. A lux- 
uriant growth of shoots from the seed will be apt to pro- 
duce the best crop of wheat. So the best prepared field 
will nourish the greatest amount of productive vegeta- 
tion.” 

“These rules are simple, and perhaps they are correct,” 
rejoined Mr. Cartwright. “ But there is surely much to 
do on a farm after the commencement has been prosper- 
ously made. The very fact of success at first may be the 
means of disappointment afterward.” 

“That the farmer always has much to do,” replied Mr. 
Courtland, “there can be no doubt. But to the thrifty, 
farmer the much he has to do will be a pleasure, whereas 
to one that is indolent and careless it will always be at- 
tended with failure and difficulty. Every one knows how 
easy it is to keep their books in order when once they are 
properly arranged and secured on their shelves and their 
cases ; but throw them again into disorder, and it requires 
tedious hours and days to restore them to their first con- 
dition. And as to failing on account of the great measure 
of our success, that could scarcely happen with a farmer 
who is intelligent and industrious, and it is only the in- 
telligent and industrious who will take the first steps to 
improve their farms in the manner I have stated.” 

“ But do you not avail yourself of the recent improve- 
ments made in so many implements of husbandry, and of 
the innumerable new modes of enriching and fertilizing 
the soil ?” 

“Just so far as I believe these to be necessary, but no 
farther. The farmer has a very important duty to dis- 
charge to himself, and that is to rely with reasonable con- 


on, WHAT A TAnj/nn oah do. 


129 


fidence on his own judgment and experience, Avithout suf- 
fering himself to be led away and deceived by men who, 
in proclaiming their new discoveries and improvements to 
the world, have necessarily a selfish end to accomplish, 
Avhich is almost always sure to lead them far into the un- 
certainty of conjectural experiment. Much as we are in- 
debted to the improvement of machinery, and the new 
discoveries of fertilizing agents on the one hand, we are 
not unfrequently exposed to the empirical designs of in- 
terested projectors on the other. Besides, the science of 
agriculture, like almost all the other sciences, is too often 
encumbered with a weight of technical refinement and re- 
dundancy, which only renders its study the more obscure 
and discouraging. Its greatest reliance and security, as is 
the case with all matters of vital importance to the human 
family, is its obvious simplicity. This the farmer will 
best learn from the school of his own experience.” 

“ But surely,” said Mr. Cartwright, “ you would not 
have him neglect the experience of other men.” 

“ Not where he has reason to believe it is well founded,” 
replied Mr. Courtland. “ So far from this, I would have 
the whole farming community regarded as one family, and 
to impart the results of their experience to each other for 
the common welfare. In the mean time the old methods 
of culture should not be lightly departed from. Instead 
of eagerly inquiring after new improvements, however 
valuable some of these may be when once fairly estab- 
lished, it would be better, perhaps, to prosecute these old 
methods wdth a new vigor, energy, and perseverance. 
The true inquiry after all should be not so much in re- 
gard to what new methods of cultivation are to be used, 
as how to use the old ones as well as the new with the 
most regularity and elfect — at their proper times and in 1 
their proper order.” 

We have endeavored to preserve the substance of the 
conversation that passed between Governor Cartwright 
and Mr. Courtland on the occasion in question. The dis- 
cussion of several important agricultural subjects was pro- 
tracted to a much greater length than we have here 
stated, and each of them felt highly edified and instructed 
by the remarks so freely and frankly thrown out by his 
companion. At length they separated from each other 


130 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


with expressions of esteem and regard, which were mu- 
tually sincere and ardent, and which they had every rea- 
son to believe would be long remembered and cherished 
on both sides. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Governor Cartwright had scarcely withdrawn from 
this friendly and instructive interview, when Mr. Court- 
land received a visit from his neighbor Thomas Russell. 
Notice had been given to that gentleman that Harry had 
returned from his trip, made in company with his daughter, 
to New York, and we may easily imagine how anxious he 
was to be informed of the result of their journey to the 
city from which she was to embark for California. 

Mr. Russell was led by his friend into the little library 
from which Governor Cartwright had just taken his de- 
parture. In a moment afterwards Mrs. Truehope and her 
daughter entered. The former he recognized as his old 
neighbor, with whom he had spent many happy hours in 
years that had long since passed away. Their meeting, on 
this occasion, was enthusiastic and tender in a very high 
degree. Each one seemed to enter into the other’s feel- 
ings with a warmth that was mutual!}^ understood and re- 
ciprocated, and which called up the trjdng events and vicis- 
situdes of their past lives. They thought on other days, 
when their joys were greater, and their hopes were 
brighter, — when the sunshine of prosperity gathered light 
from the past, and with its glorious promises dazzled the 
future. They remembered the clouds that afterwards 
overshadowed the brilliant prospect before them, and sur- 
rounded them with gloom and darkness. No wonder that 
now, although they had been trained in the school of ad- 
versity, and had learned to exercise fortitude and patience 
there, they wept like children in each other’s presence, and 
gave vent to feelings that were sad, but not hopelessly 
sorrowful. The sudden shock operated like the electric 
fluid — it agitated their frames at first, but it settled down 
in a moment afterward into peace and tranquillity. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


131 


It is unnecessary that we should attempt to say more 
on a subject so tender and pathetic. Of Yirginia Truehope 
Mr. Russell retained no recollection, and it required that 
she should be introduced to him as an entire stranger. 
When this task had been performed, he seemed the more 
anxious to make inquiries about his own daughter. For 
this purpose Harry was sent for, who was eagerly, and 
not very regularly, interrogated on the subject. 

“ You say that all was right, Harry, when she entered 
on board the ship. She met with nothing, I apprehend, 
to occasion her the least uneasiness. Agnes is possessed 
of a great deal of fortitude. She is not easily frightened, 
and is never disturbed by fears that are only imaginary. I 
tell you, Harry, she will get along very well, even among 
strangers, for whatever difficulties she may meet, she will 
consider them as coolly, and judge of them as correctly, as 
if she were laying off a flower-bed in the garden. She pos- 
sesses no little share of the courage which once animated 
the bosom of her mother, and of the admirable resources 
which served her so well when surrounded by danger. 
And yet, poor girl, she may have a great deal to encounter 
— a great deal more than ever exercised the patience of her 
mother — a far sorer trial (and God knows the trial has 
been sore enough) than ever probed the feelings of her un- 
happy father.” 

To all this Harry returned a broad and general answer. 
He said that, so far as he had an opportunity of judging 
from her external deportment, he had every reason to be- 
lieve that when he left her, Agnes was in the enjoyment 
of peace and tranquillity of mind. She complained of 
nothing, and seemed to fear nothing. All her concern was 
on account of her friends — on account of those in whose 
welfare she seemed to feel a much deeper interest than in 
her own. 

“ You have reason to be proud of such a daughter,” said 
Mr. Courtland, addressing himself to his friend, Mr. Rus- 
sell. “ Let us endeavor to profit by her example, and to 
imitate that fortitude and resignation to the divine will, 
which enables her to meet her trials so bravely. She is 
engaged in the discharge of a noble duty, for the accom- 
plishment of which I have no doubt she has summoned all 
her energies. We, too, have duties to perform, which it 


132 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


behooves us to attend to with the same kind of earnestness 
and attention. If we suffer our minds to grow languid in the 
struggle — if our spirits should fail us, and our strength and 
courage give way under difficulties — then it is impossible 
that we should succeed in performing the labor that has 
been assigned us ; and although our task may not embrace 
the achievement of a specific object like hers — although it 
may not partake of so holy a character — it at least involves 
the accomplishment of some general good, which all have 
it in their power to bring about to a greater or less ex- 
tent.” 

“I think I understand your father,” said Mr. Kussell, 
speaking to Harry. '' His meaning is, that each one of us 
should aim at the accomplishment of all the good that is in 
our power, and that this task will be best performed by 
attending diligently to our ordinary duties.” 

“ You have understood my meaning exactly,” rejoined 
Mr. Courtland, “ and I hope none of you will undertake to 
dispute the soundness of a position that is so plain and 
simple. Our constant aim in this world ought to be to 
make ourselves useful. And now, Harry, let me hear how 
you intend to appropriate your time during the ensuing 
winter, and what projects you have in view in order to ren- 
der yourself useful to your neighbors.” 

have much to do to promote my own individual im- 
provement,” said Harry, “ and feel the necessity of con- 
tinuing some time yet to be a learner before I attempt to 
become a teacher.” 

“ That is very well spoken, my son,” answered Mr. 
Courtland, “ and yet 1 would feel loath that your modesty 
should obstruct the exercise of your usefulness. It does 
not necessarily happen that because we are engaged in ac- 
quiring knowledge for ourselves, we are therefore prevented 
from imparting it to others, any more than because we are 
engaged in accumulatingriches, we are debarred from using 
our wealth as a means of promoting individual and social 
happiness. In both these cases, perhaps, it will be found 
that a liberal bestowment of our acquisitions on others 
only tends to increase and extend our own individual 
stores. Certain it is, that there is no surer way of acquir- 
ing knowledge than by engaging in the task of teaching it 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO 


133 


to those around us. What we attempt to impart to others 
always becomes plainer to ourselves.” 

“But I am afraid,” answered Harry, “that I should 
find it difficult to procure a sufficient number of earnest and 
attentive pupils.” 

“ Nothing easier in the world,” exclaimed Mr. Court- 
land. “ Only convince one or two of your neighbors of the 
benefits to be derived from associating with you in the 
pursuit of certain branches of knowledge, and a strong in- 
clination would soon be felt by others to move in the same 
sphere. Begin, for instance, with an agricultural society. 
Form a class from the members of that society to meet 
once a week at some convenient place, for the purpose of 
mutually instructing each other on subjects in which all 
profess to feel equal interest. Think how easy it would be 
for you to suggest several new ideas on the subject of the 
compost-heap ; how much you could say in regard to the 
many benefits to be derived from draining ; how well you 
could speak about deep, timely and judicious plowing; 
how readily you could expatiate on the successful culture of 
fruit trees ; how eloquent you could become on the proper 
care and improvement of stock on a farm ; but, above all, 
with what energy and warmth you could enforce the pro- 
priety of observing strict order and regularity in the dis- 
charge of every duty pertaining to the thrifty husbandman, 
his neatness, his economy, his watchfulness, his particu- 
larity, his promptness, and a thousand other virtues equally 
excellent and equally necessary. These subjects would 
form themes on which you might, with great reason, ex- 
pend much of your zeal and enthusiasm. Try it, my boy, 
try it ! Try it for your own sake ; for the experiment, if 1 
am not much mistaken, will benefit no one half so much as 
it will yourself.” 

Harry scarcely moved a muscle of his face after his 
father had done speaking, but seemed to be absorbed in 
deep thought. This was noticed by Virginia Truehope, 
who was by no means an unconcerned listener to that 
which had just been uttered in her presence. She looked 
wistfully on Harry, as if she expected to see him rise from 
his seat, animated by the same warm enthusiasm which 
had just characterized the discourse of his father. She 

12 


134 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


seemed to feel a portion of that enthusiasm in her own 
bosom. But Harry remained mute, as if utterly at a loss 
to know how to respond to the appeal which had been 
made to him with so much force and feeling. At length, 
Virginia, either to break the awkward silence that pre- 
vailed, or moved by the warmth which Mr. Courtland’s 
address seemed to impart to her own bosom, ventured to 
hold forth in the following language : 

“ Why, Harry I I am almost ready to second, although 
I feel with how much weakness and indecision, the strong 
language made use of by your father. What a noble, what 
a delightful picture he placed before us ! I should be proud 
to become one of the characters in that picture myself. I 
feel as if it would be a distinguished honor even to be 
placed in the background. I never before felt what a 
blessed privilege it is to be permitted to mingle in the 
business affairs of this mighty world.” 

“And certainly. Miss Truehope,” said Harry, “you 
have just as much right to take an earnest part in the 
affairs of the world as those who may regard themselves 
as actors of more importance. You too have a part to 
perform which you ought not to think is altogether a sub- 
ordinate one, and which may inculcate a truth or point a 
moral with as much success as if you had it in your power 
to personify a more prominent character. What say you 
now, to establishing a class for the very purpose of teach- 
ing your favorite science, botany ? Surely nothing could 
be better contrived, or more accommodated to the habits 
and tastes of persons living in the country !” 

“ Alasl” cried Virginia, “the bare mention of a branch 
of knowledge like that is enough of itself to dampen the 
ardor which I just now so warmly felt in the cause of 
human improvement. Botany ! why, it is a science which 
is neglected and spurned by the fashionable and intelligent 
everywhere, — by people of all classes in the old world and 
in the new, — how much more by minds whose tastes have 
never been cultivated, and whose perceptions have but 
glanced at the rudiments of any science ?” 

“ And yet botany, if properly taught,” observed Mr. 
Courtland, “ might perhaps be as freely and as easily com- 
municated to simple minds as acquisitions belonging to 
any other department of knowledge. But I must confess 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO 


135 


there are technical diflSculties in the way which seem to be 
almost insurmountable.” 

“I believe I understand you,” said Mr. Russell. “You 
are thinking of the words calyx, corolla, petals, etc., of 
monocotyledons, and I don’t know how many other hard 
words, of which I presume Miss Virginia alone, of all the 
company here, could attempt to give us anything like a 
rational explanation.” 

“ There !” cried Harry, suddenly breaking the silence 
into which he seemed purposely to have fallen, in order to 
give the rest of the company an opportunity to express 
their opinions, — “ there now you have it. Miss Virginia. 
Your darling science, as I have said, is but a jargon of 
strangely classified names, just about as hard to impress 
on the memory as they are to pronounce with the lips. 
And yet the subject to which they refer is one of the most 
beautiful and interesting in the world.” 

“I am glad,” said Miss Truehope, “to hear you say so; 
and in gratitude to the subject which you profess so much 
to admire, I only hope that hereafter instead of applying 
to me such appellations as pistil, pedunculus, stigma, and 
other names which you may consider equally barbarous, 
you will address me in the plain language of flowers, and 
call me rose, lily, or tulip.” 

“ Let that be agreed upon then,” observed Harry, “ but 
only on this condition. When we have formed our classes 
for instruction, instead of producing a volume of Linnasus 
as a text-book for your pupils, I insist on it that you bring 
with you your ordinary portfolio, in which you have com- 
pressed with your own hands the shapes and colors of a 
thousand beautiful plants, and have designated them by 
names which may be understood by the feeblest capacity.” 

“ It is a covenant and agreement solemnly entered into,” 
said Miss Truehope. “ You are to set up for an instructor 
in the principles and practice of agriculture, and I am to 
give lessons on the economical government of a family, 
with here and there a little botany, just for the sake of 
ornament. This then is the plan of our campaign, which, 
although it is to be carried on in the season of winter, 
I trust will receive our earnest and most devoted atten- 
tion.” 

When Mr. Courtland rose to leave the library, his at- 


136 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


tention was arrested by seeing Rowland leading two of 
his saddle horses across the yard, and hitching them to a 
post that was planted on a convenient spot for that pur- 
pose. On inquiring of Rowland for whose service these 
animals were brought out, he immediately replied that 
they were intended for the use of Miss Truehope and 
Harry. “ They are about to take a ride round the 
country,’’ he remarked, “and blow me if I don’t think it 
is one of the very best things they could do.” 

“ You are right, Rowland ! perfectly right,” exclaimed 
Mr. Oourtland. “ And here is another benefit accruing 
from the habits of a country life. The art of horseman- 
ship is peculiarly rustic, and yet is the most graceful and 
dignified exercise in which we have an opportunity to in- 
dulge. It is ten times more healthy than dancing, and a 
thousand times more noble. It is a pursuit in which the 
greatest men and women of the world have found a de- 
cided pleasure. There is no effeminacy about it — nothing 
that relaxes the strength either of mind or body. On 
the contrary, it forms the truest perfection of a manly in- 
dulgence, and derives its chief advantages from the sub- 
lime elevation which it gives to our thoughts and feelings.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Oourtland,” exclaimed Virginia, as 
she passed him on her way to procure a suitable riding- 
dress. “I arn sure we shall not relish the exercise we are 
about to take the less on account of the merited praise 
you are pleased to bestow on the noble art of horseman- 
ship.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


137 


CHAPTER XXIY. 

We must now resume the thread of our story from the 
point at which we broke off, when detailing the recovery 
of Agnes Russell and her companions, on board the vessel 
in which they were sailing, from sea-sickness. In a few 
days they found themselves completely restored to their 
former health and spirits, and indeed were made fully sen- 
sible that the nauseating effects of their sickness had turned 
out to be a real benefit 

About two weeks had now elapsed since our adventur- 
ers on the ocean had left the City of New York. Mr. 
Marshfield and Mr. Stanley resorted to many methods of 
filling up the leisure time which was at their disposal, and 
they always aimed at making it yield them profit as well 
as pleasure. They spent many hours of course in reading, 
and in conversing on a great variety of topics with the 
other passengers. But they were more exclusively en- 
gaged in reciprocating feelings and exchanging ideas with 
each other. They shared between them a congeniality of 
sentiment and character which always rendered their in- 
tercourse not only beneficial but pleasant, harmonious, and 
cheerful. 

It was on one of these occasions that they had met 
together, in the saloon of the steamer. Agnes sat oppo- 
site to the two friends, who were engaged in earnest con- 
versation with each other, and Maggy was seated at her 
side. Mr. Marshfield had just repeated to Mr. Stanley 
the pleasure he now took in considering the nature of the 
soul, and the assurance he had of its immortality. 

“ I must confess,” said he, “ that until lately this subject 
appeared to me very dark and mysterious, but since con- 
versing with Miss Russell and yourself, a thousand strong 
reasons elevate my hopes and confirm my faith. But it 
will not do to discuss this matter any further. It is now 
late, and most of our fellow-passengers have retired to rest. 
It becomes us to follow their example.” 

12 * 


138 


HENR Y CO UR TLA ND ; 


The night was dark, but it was silent as the calm that 
precedes the earthquake. Not a ripple was heard to dis- 
turb the quiet repose of the waters, and yet the noble ship 
plowed her way through the mighty deep as if animated 
by a life that was strong, active, and majestic. The 
moment, however, that Mr. Marshfield uttered the words 
we have recorded above, a tremendous blow struck the bow 
of the vessel, and sent her reeling back from her course, as 
if she had been lifted bodily out of the water. An alarm 
was given by some person at the other end of the ship 
that she had sprung a leak, and was fast taking in water. 
Mr. Marshfield was now the very first to rush forward 
toward the stairs leading up the deck, and to desert his 
companions without a single word of apology or explana- 
tion, In a short time it was found that the vessel indeed 
had sustained some harm, but not sufficient to render her 
case either desperate or dangerous. It required but a 
small amount of labor at the pumps to free her entirely 
from water, and scarcely more labor in effectually stopping 
the leaks which had been discovered. 

The absence of Mr. Marshfield from the cabin occasioned 
Agnes to feel much concern on his account, and that con- 
cern was not a little increased when, after the lapse of a 
much greater length of time than she thought necessary for 
him to spend on deck, she beheld him advancing slowly 
toward his own room, leaning on the arm of a gentleman 
with whom he had no acquaintance, pale, faint, and with 
blood flowing pretty freely from his mouth. The moment 
she laid her eyes on him, and discovered the condition in 
which he was, she ran forward to meet him. “ My poor, 
dear friend,” she exclaimed, “what has happened to dis- 
tress you ? You are pale and bleeding, and look as if you 
had sustained some sudden and strange disaster.” 

Mr. Marshfield made no reply to her remarks, but the 
person who supported him observed that “ he believed the 
gentleman had ruptured a blood-vessel, and that perhaps 
he was laboring under some other injury,” 

“ Then conduct him at once to his room I” cried Agnes ; 
and taking the lead herself, she saw her friend carefully 
bestowed in his own comfortable berth. 

“ Alas !” said Agnes, “ this is sickness — this, I am 
afraid, is the entire exhaustion of a form already too much 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 139 

enfeebled by disease — it may be the harbinger of death 
itself.” 

A physician was called in, who happened to be one of 
the passengers on his way to California. A slight exam- 
ination of the condition of his patient soon informed him 
of the nature of his disease. He pronounced it to be hem- 
orrhage of the* lungs, brought on in all probability by the 
excessive exertion of his bodily organs, and by too great 
anxiety of mind. 

When this information was communicated to Agnes, 
she was ready to swoon away under a sense of her own 
misery. The shock which it caused to her feelings un- 
nerved her so completely that she was scarcely sensible 
of the language in which she uttered her melancholy com- 
plaints. “My protector, my guardian, my best friend,” 
she exclaimed, “will be taken from me! I shall be left 
helpless and desolate among strangers I Oh, God I this 
is a trial which I could hardly have anticipated.” 

The friends of Agnes endeavored to cheer and comfort 
her. She was told by the physician that the attack Mr. 
Marshfield was called to encounter, although in itself 
severe and dangerous, would not necessarily be followed 
by death. He might live months and years yet, and even 
by careful treatment be restored again to entire and per- 
fect health. 

Agnes was led away to her own room, much distressed 
and disordered indeed from the scenes she had passed 
through during the preceding day, but not without hope. 
Maggy remained with her, as her nurse and attendant, 
during the night. Such remedies were applied in the case 
of Mr. Marshfield as were calculated to deliver him from 
immediate danger, but he was left in a very weak and pre- 
carious pondition. 


140 


HENRY GOURTLAND ; 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Agnes, notwithstanding her broken slumbers, and the 
great anxiety she had gone through during the previous 
day, rose early in the morning, and her first inquiry, of 
course, had relation to the state and feelings of her friend, 
Mr. Marshfield. She hastened to his room in person, and 
kindly requested from his own mouth a statement of the 
condition of his health. By this time he had so far re- 
covered from the first attack of his malady, as to be able 
to speak without aggravating the symptoms under which 
he labored, and without exposing himself to pain or incon- 
venience. 

“ Sit down, my child,” he said, as soon as Agnes had 
entered the door of his apartment. “ I have been think- 
ing a good deal about you during the past night, and have 
not been unmindful of my own frail and altered condition. 
It was a remarkable providence that introduced us to each 
other under circumstances which were unusual and peculiar, 
and for which I can plainly see we have both reason to be 
thankful. I feel conscious on my part of having profited 
much by the simplicity and truth of your conversation, — 
of having been prepared by you for the event which has 
just overtaken me, and for that more awful crisis which 
will perhaps soon terminate my earthly existence.” 

Here Agnes, with tears in her eyes, was about to inter- 
rupt the speaker — but he waived his hand in token of 
silence, and continued his address to her as follows : 

‘‘What I have to say. Miss Russell, I wish to say at 
once, while I am favored with strength and ability for 
that purpose. I remarked just now that I had profited 
greatly from your acquaintance and conversation, and I 
feel conscious that I too have a duty to perform toward 
you from which you may derive lasting benefit. Listen, 
and follow my instructions.” 

Here Mr. Marshfield paused for a moment, in order to 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO 


141 


gain strength for the further prosecution of his discourse, 
after which he continued his remarks as follows : 

‘‘ My first introduction to you, as you know, was 
brought about by Captain Lamberton, who addressed a 
note to your father on the subject of your brother’s sick- 
ness. At that time I supposed the captain had no other 
object in view than to benefit your family, and send relief, 
as far as it was in his power, to your brother. But I had 
some reason afterward to doubt the sincerity and purity of 
his intentions. Intimations were more than once given to 
me by Mr. Braxton, who is in the employment of Captain 
Lamberton, that the sole object of the latter was to per- 
suade you to visit California, for the purpose, if possible, 
of winning your affections, or, if he found that could not 
be accomplished, of coercing you by some means into a 
matrimonial alliance contrary to your own wishes and in- 
clination. This he supposed he would be able to effect 
even if your brother should recover from his sickness, and 
continue to reside in San Francisco, of which, however, 
he was by no means assured, as your brother always 
talked of removing to some other part of California as 
soon as he should be sufficiently restored to health to do 
so. But all this was not fully revealed to me, although I 
previously had strong reasons to doubt the integrity and 
good faith of Captain Lamberton, until you and I had 
taken passage in this vessel, and had actually entered on 
board for the purpose of proceeding on our destined voy- 
age. It was on the very day that the ship in which we 
now are was about to sail, and just before she weighed 
anchor for that purpose, that our friend Braxton came on 
board, and put into my hands this letter.” [Here he took 
a letter from a large pocket-book w’hich he had deposited 
under his pillow^] Take this document,” Mr. Marshfield 
continued, “ and keep it until you may have occasion to 
use it. I do not wish you to read it now, but I desire 
that you may retain it in your possession, and take 
especial care of it, as some day or other it may prove 
your best security against the stratagems of Captain 
Lamberton.” 

Mr. Marshfield again paused in order to take breath, 
and Miss Russell was too much absorbed in her own feel- 
ings, and too much bewildered by the new and hurried 


142 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


thoughts that shot through her brain, to attempt any im- 
mediate answer to the disclosures so suddenly and so un- 
expectedly made by her sick friend. 

After a brief interval, Mr. Marshfield continued in the 
following strain : 

“ It was my intention to reveal all this to you as soon 
as we should arrive at San Francisco, and should make 
ourselves acquainted with the situation and movements 
of your brother ; and, in the mean time, I had resolved, as 
far as opportunity and strength would have been given 
me, steadfastly to adhere to you as your earthly friend 
and protector. But Grod only knows whether I shall be 
spared to reach with you the end of this voyage. Should 
my earthly pilgrimage terminate before that time, let me 
advise you to place great confidence in the man you call 
Billy Braxton. I believe him to be your friend, and from 
my knowledge of his dexterity and address, and of his 
innate dislike and opposition to everything like baseness 
and treachery, I have reason to think, however much it 
may operate to his disadvantage, that he will be induced 
to espouse your interests in preference to those of Captain 
Lamberton.’’ 

Poor Agnes was greatly overcome by an interview 
which exercised both her understanding and affections, 
and which was the means of disclosing a state of things 
at once melancholy and surprising. She could not doubt, 
from what she saw and heard, but that the life of her 
friend — of her dearest and best friend in the dark hour of 
adversity — was in imminent danger. A single day, or an 
hour, might open for him the portals of eternity. And 
then she would be cast on the world alone, not only far 
from home and friends, and amid entire strangers, but beset 
by one whose object was to betray her peace, and to in- 
veigle her into a hateful union, which was alike repug- 
nant to her feelings and her principles. These reflections 
were distressing, and weighed on her bosom with a heavi- 
ness that was almost greater than she could bear. And 
yet, in the midst of this severe pressure of affliction, she 
was happy in entertaining other thoughts, which, like 
angels’ visits, seemed kindly to come to her relief. She 
hoped, in the first place, although she could not but con- 
fess this to be one of her faintest supports, that Mr. Marsh- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER GAN DO. 


143 


field would in a few days be restored to health, and that 
he would stand by her side, as her protector and coun- 
selor, when her present perilous voyage should be ended. 
And then she thought of the promises made to her by Mr. 
Stanley and his daughter, and of the protection she might 
derive from the friendship of that mysterious being, Billy 
Braxton. Nor was she unmindful of the strong confidence 
she was able to repose in her humble companion and fel- 
low-sufferer Maggy. That plain, unpretending individual, 
with nothing to boast of but her good feelings and reso- 
lute heart, seemed nevertheless to stand before her like a 
bulwark of strength, and was pledged to befriend her in 
every emergency that could happen. Animated with such 
reflections as these, Agnes felt herself to be borne up 
above the common accidents and contingencies of life, and 
to be supported in the midst of her own sharp and pe- 
culiar sorrows. She thanked Mr. Marshfield for the in- 
formation he had imparted to her, and for the deep interest 
he manifested in her welfare, and having uttered a prayer 
for his own recovery, she left his apartment with a sub- 
dued, but with a strong, confiding, and courageous heart. 

The condition of Mr. Marshfield required unremitting 
watchfulness and attention. Maggy waited on him with 
the assiduity of a faithful nurse. Mr. Stanley was fre- 
quently at his bedside, cheered, counseled, and encouraged 
him, and fortified his mind with the sweet assurance of 
another and better world. But Agnes was his favorite 
and most constant attendant. She provided for all his 
little wants, read the Bible for him, listened to the history 
of his past life, and sometimes even attempted to interest 
him with a few passages in her own. This continued for 
some days, but with no sensible alteration in the character 
of his disease. At the expiration of about a week after he 
experienced the first attack, it was agreed by Mr. Stanley 
and Agnes that he was growing worse instead of better. 
He did not complain of pain, nor was there a repetition of 
the flow of blood from his lungs — on the contrary, his 
breathing seemed more perfect, and his rest more easy. 
But he was more frequently overcome by fits of drowsi- 
ness and languor, and his eyes had lost much of their 
brightness and luster. He seemed also less concerned 
about the affairs of life, and w^as entirely passive under 


144 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


every arrangement that was proposed either by his nurse 
or physician. 

Two days after this Agnes was sitting alone at his bed- 
side. She had just read to him that beautiful psalm, be- 
ginning with the consolatory declaration, “ The Lord is 
my shepherd, I shall not want.’’ He seemed to listen 
with profound reverence and attention to the words as 
she pronounced them, and at the close he observed, with 
an emphasis that was above his ordinary strength, “ That 
psalm gives me victory over death and the grave I” Agnes 
turned her eyes toward her friend with just alarm, for she 
was made sensible from the tones of his voice, as well as 
from the expression of his countenance, that some remark- 
able change had just taken place in the progress of his dis- 
ease. “Are you better, Mr. Marshfield ?” she exclaimed, 
scarcely knowing what she said. “ I am well,” was his 
feeble answer. Then folding his arms across his breast, 
and looking on Agnes with a complacent smile, as if for 
the purpose of bidding her a lasting farewell, he closed his 
eyes on the fading objects of time, and the spirit of Walter 
Marshfield ascended to its dwelling-place in heaven. 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

From what we have already observed in the preceding 
chapter, it will not surprise our readers to be told that 
Agnes Russell manifested a degree of strength and forti- 
tude on the present occasion that was as remarkable as 
it was unexpected by those who had been previously ob- 
serving her mere external conduct. Her inward spirjt, as 
we have seen, was elevated into a sphere of thought and 
discernment that imparted consolation to her feelings, and 
gave to her heart a hope and confidence that triumphed 
over the profoundness and extremity of her grief. She 
retired from the scene of death with a serenity so calm 
and uncomplaining, that even Maggy was at a loss to 
account for so much tranquillity and courage. Mr. Stanley 
and his daughter were still more surprised at the quiet 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


145 


resignation which was so sensibly depicted in her counte- 
nance, and only admired her fortitude the more as it had 
been the less looked for and expected. 

The next day was appointed for consigning the corpse 
of Mr. Marshfield to the silent depths of the ocean. This 
mournful ceremony was to be attended to at the hour of 
noon, and in the presence of all on board. The day was 
bright and calm, the sea w^as unruffled, and the deep-blue 
sky seemed to be in unison with the solemnity of the oc- 
casion. The commander of the vessel ordered the sails to 
be furled, and the flags to be lowered, during the perform- 
ance of the ceremony. Mr. Stanley, although deeply af- 
fected by the death of his friend, and liable to be over- 
come by the tenderness of his feelings, agreed to read the 
funeral service, according to the form prescribed by the 
Church of England. 

When the hour arrived for the solemn service to com- 
mence, the coffin or box in which the body had been de- 
posited was brought on deck, and was placed in a position 
ready for its sudden precipitation into the deep. The pas- 
sengers and crew assembled round it in serious and respect- 
ful order, his more immediate friends taking their positions 
nearest to the coffin. Mr. Stanley stood at the head, while 
Agnes and Maggy occupied a place at the foot, and Miss 
Stanley and Molton Fairview took their stations in the 
center. The latter had the duty assigned him of holding 
the end of a rope, and at a given signal from the boatswain, 
he was to suffer the coffin to glide from the side of the 
vessel into the ocean, which was waiting to receive it. 

Mr. Stanley pronounced a very brief but pathetic dis- 
course on the occasion, which was listened to with deep 
and attentive silence by his audience. He then commenced 
reading the Church service over the body, which seemed 
to be still more solemn and affecting. The silvery tones 
of his voice, and his stately manner, imparted a most pa- 
thetic interest to the ceremony. When he came to those 
expressive words which so strikingly represent the reduction 
of the corporeal organization into its original elements, he 
lowered the sounds of his voice to their greatest depth, pro- 
ceeded with louder articulation to read the sentences which 
immediately followed, and then exclaimed with more breadth 
and emphasis, “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to 

13 


146 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


dust ! Write, blessed are the dead who die in the Lord 
from henceforth : yea, saith the spirit, that they may 
rest from their labors, and their works do follow them.” 
These pathetic passages were made the concluding part of 
the service. As soon as they were pronounced, the boat- 
swain uttered a shrill sound with his whistle, and Molton 
Fairview suffered the coffin to descend at once to its watery 
element. The plunge was quick and precipitate, and the 
body was buried as quickly beneath the waves of the ocean. 
But almost before the mighty deep had time to close over 
it, Agnes Russell uttered a loud scream, and it was an- 
nounced by more than one voice that the boy ha'd been 
dragged overboard. He had, in some way or other, become 
entangled in the rope that he held, which was the cause 
of this sudden catastrophe. 

The boy was seen to struggle on the surface of the water 
for some time, but before the vessel could be stopped, and 
a boat lowered for his relief, he had disappeared from those 
who were watching his motions, and it was supposed that 
he had sunk never to rise again. All professed to feel a deep 
interest in his fate, but no one lamented it more sincerely, 
or yielded to its certainty with more reluctance, than Agnes 
Russell. She carefully examined everything about the 
ship that came under her observation. While thus en- 
gaged in performing what she believed to be her simple 
duty, she cast her eye on the rudder, which had not before 
attracted any part of her attention. In a moment she be- 
came aware that the rope, which had been the unfortu- 
nate instrument of precipitating the boy into the water, had 
fastened itself beUveen the rudder and the keel of the 
vessel, and in all probability still held his body attached 
to it, although it was difficult to say in what manner. As 
soon as these impressions were made on her mind she com- 
municated them to the men who had come to the boy’s 
rescue. The suggestion was a happy one. They pro- 
ceeded at once to draw in the rope, and to the great sur- 
prise of the passengers, and the equally great gratification 
of Agnes, the body of the boy was raised to the surface of 
the water, and safely deposited at the bottom of the boat. 

All now who had witnessed the occurrence of this mel- 
ancholy event were eager and anxious to know whether 
he was dead or alive. As soon as he was brought on deck 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


147 


every possible means was resorted to to effect his resusci- 
tation. These efforts were persisted in until shortly after- 
ward Molton opened his eyes again on the objects around 
him. In a few days he recovered from his languor and 
debility, and was inclined to be as noisy and mischievous 
as ever. 

“ It is strange,” observed Molton, in speaking of the 
narrow escape he had made from a watery grave, “ that 
I should have been so very careful, on my mother’s account, 
when the ship struck, as not to venture out of the cabin, 
and yet that I should have played my part so rashly as to 
plunge 'into the water when engaged in discharging my 
duty at the funeral of Mr. Marshfield. Nobody, Miss 
Agnes, but myself, can tell what I experienced and felt 
while drowning in the midst of the angry sea. I seemed 
to live my whole lifetime over again, and thought a great 
deal, I do assure you, of my poor mother.” • 

This was not the first time that Agnes had heard him 
mention the name of his mother in the most tender and 
affectionate terms. She thought, indeed, that he pro- 
nounced this name at the very moment when he was about 
to sink in the depth of the ocean, and she was sure that 
the first words he uttered after he was restored from in- 
sensibility to a state of consciousness were, “ Oh, my poor 
mother!” It was only natural, therefore, that she should 
feel a strong inclination to make some inquiries respecting 
this near and tender relationship to which he himself had 
so often adverted, and in which he seemed to feel such a 
deep interest. But she found he was not disposed to 
gratify her curiosity. Whenever she attempted to bring 
the subject to his notice he would invariably utter the 
words, “my poor mother!” and having made thisexclama- 
tion, he would either endeavor to divert the conversation 
to some other topic, or would walk away without answer- 
ing the questions propounded to him. 

For some days after the death of Mr. Marshfield, Agnes 
could not but feel the great weight of the bereavement, but, 
as we have already hinted, she bore it with remarkable 
cheerfulness and composure. Mr. Stanley and his daugh- 
ter were, of course, her constant companions. In their 
society she found relief from many gloomy reflections, 
which otherwise might have caused her great uneasiness. 


148 


HENRY COURTLAND 


and have reduced her mind to a state of habitual darkness 
and despondency. She felt thankful that her courage and 
resolution appeared to be equal to the trials she was called 
to encounter, and that in her saddest moments she could 
find a consolation in her own thoughts that was equal to 
her greatest afflictions. 

Nothing very remarkable happened to any of the parties 
we have mentioned during the remainder of the voy- 
age. They reached the isthmus, and crossed over to Pa- 
nama. From thence they took the wide sweep of the 
Pacific Ocean, and sailed along the Mexican coast, that now 
revealed to the eyes of the delighted passengers many 
prominent features of beauty and sublimity. Magnificent 
islands seemed resting on the surface of the water, like 
gardens of Eastern fable called into existence by the wand 
of the enchanter. Green hills sloped up from the margin 
of the sea to an elevation truly grand and picturesque, 
affording to the eyes of the eager beholder a sight that 
was magnificent and imposing, presenting not only a 
thousand interesting objects of living reality, but forming 
an extended outline of dim and indistinct coloring, where 
the fancy might revel in boundless scenes of loveliness and 
grandeur. The sides of these hills, from top to bottom, 
were moulded into picturesque terraces, where plants and 
trees, and fruits and flowers, exhibited their various attrac- 
tions in almost endless variety. The golden orange, the 
banana, the tamarind, and the palm, breathed their luxu- 
rious sweets under a clear sky, and in a climate that seemed 
to be genial and healthy. These sights and scenes were 
the admiration of the voyagers as they passed, and seemed 
to possess a still deeper interest when they were left be- 
hind by the rapid motion of the vessel. 

What a vast and varied region was here presented for 
the contemplation of the poet I How pure and happy he 
might suppose were the lives of its simple inhabitants — 
how innocent and patriarchal were their unpretending 
habits — how virtuous and holy they were in their thoughts 
and devotions 1 Such would be his feelings and sentiments 
while giving indulgence to a lively and heated imagina- 
tion. But, alas! what a different pieture would present 
itself to his mind had he but an opportunity of landing 
on the shore, and witnessing the stern reality, instead of 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


149 


this fascinating illusion! The beauty of the landscape 
would, indeed, still be there. The vine and orange would 
still hang in pendent clusters of tempting luxuriance. The 
cocoa and the palm would expand their broad leaves in re- 
freshing shadows over the land, and would invite him to 
partake of their fruits and flowers. But the charm of a 
holy and consecrated life would be wanting — the fancied 
happiness that he identified with this beautiful Eden would 
elude his most eager scrutiny. He would find that the 
tempter, even here, with all his selfishness and all his 
pride — with all his profligacy and all his sin — had found 
his way into the Paradise of God. 

Toward evening Agne*s had the pleasure of witnessing 
the glories of a brilliant sunset on the Pacific Far down 
toward the verge of the horizon the pearly light spread in 
all directions like an ocean of flame. It shone and blazed 
in the sky above and in the wide expanse of water beneath 
with a truly splendid magnificence. The heavens seemed to 
be studded with golden sapphires. The ambient clouds 
poured forth a volume of variegated fire that jetted from 
above in a thousand beautiful tints. All the colors of the 
rainbow appeared to be called into existence by the pure 
light of a world that is bright and spiritual, and this 
light imparted its splendor and glory to the sky, to the 
clouds, and to the waves that rose and fell in the midst of 
the flaming ocean. Like inferior lights that are kindled on 
earth, one portion of the sparkling mass followed another 
in constant and almost endless succession. The change 
was unceasingly going on, now blending into purple and 
gold, now lining the transparent clouds with violet and 
blue, now shining forth like strong vivid flashes of light- 
ning, and now spreading its blushing sheet of pearly white- 
ness over the entire illumination by which the sun was 
surrounded. Here was a scene of glory, surpassing all 
human skill, all human fancy, to rival or imitate. And yet 
it was but the repetition of that which is almost of daily 
occurrence. It was but the ordinary appearance of a sun- 
set on the Pacific. 

It was pleasant, too, to a mind gifted with a taste for the 
sublime and beautiful, to watch at a distance the peaks of 
lofty Mexican mountains, rearing their dusky summits to 
thesk}^, and towering far above the landscape scenery that 

13 * 


150 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


covered the intervening country. These huge structures 
seemed to correspond with the vast resources of that 
great continent, which, stretching from the Atlantic to 
the Pacific Ocean, is one day to comprise the mightiest and 
the most flourishing empire of the world. While their 
dense masses might be called the emblems of strength and 
security, their vast extent of vegetation, with its everlast- 
ing verdure and foliage, seemed to proclaim the approach 
of a corresponding period of virtue, improvement, and in- 
telligence. 

The noble ship, “ walking the waters like a thing of life,’’ 
passed rapidly over the liquid track in which she held her 
course. Far away to the west immense mountain ridges 
appeared to stretch across the continent of firm land, like 
huge belts purposely designed to give firmness and sta- 
bility to the distant regions of earth which they bound 
together. Many an eye was fixed with deep interest on 
the dim outline of these everlasting hills. It was not only 
that they stretched to an inconceivable distance, but they 
towered up to an immense height, and sometimes more 
than transcended the tall summits of Mont Blanc. And 
now the admiring crowd passed Acapulco, San Bias, and 
the green islands lying scattered in their way, but which 
were too small and too numerous to interfere with the on- 
ward progress of their rapid voyage. At length they came 
in sight of the walls of Mazatlan, under a sky that was 
clear and cloudless, and with a breeze that hurried them 
on toward one of the extremities of the peninsula. Before 
long they descried the coast of California, and, steering by 
the nearest points, soon rounded into the Bay of San Fran- 
cisco. 

It must not be forgotten that the voyage we have been 
describing was made in the year 1849, at a time when 
emigration to that supposed Eldorado was immensely 
active, but before any very substantial improvements had 
been erected for the comfort and convenience of the early 
settlers. As the vessel approached in front of the city all 
eyes were intently riveted on the objects of wonder and 
curiosity that characterized its primitive appearance. The 
irregularity of the ground on which it was about to be 
erected, and over which it was to rise like the enchanted 
palace so wonderfully formed by the lamp of Aladdin, was 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


151 


not the only phenomenon that attracted their attention. Its 
strange, half-finished and half-modeled houses — its canvas 
tents, stretched out as substitutes for more comfortable 
dwellings — its vigorous appropriation of every foot of 
ground that could be made subservient to the purposes of 
a human habitation — its inhospitable cellars occupied as 
places of business — its still more inhospitable caves shel- 
tering the poor and friendless — its gambling establish- 
ments, its restaurants, and its capacious but slightly 
secured hotels, — all this presented a scene so novel, and to 
many so discouraging, that it is not wonderful their atten- 
tion should have been completely absorbed by the singular 
and uncommon objects that occupied their eyesight. For 
Agnes Russell, especially, the distant city had an interest, 
which was felt by her so acutely that it caused the blood 
to course more rapidly through her whole frame. She was 
sensible of the increased motion of her heart. But she 
recollected at the same time that this was a weakness to 
which neither her character nor her circumstances must 
suffer her to give way. She earnestly strove, therefore, to 
counteract its enervating influence. In a few moments 
she shook oft‘ the tremor by which she had been agitated, 
and again resumed her ordinary smiles and cheerfulness. 
As the boat in which the passengers landed approached 
the shore, Agnes Russell was the animating spirit that im- 
parted motion and life to its timid and bewildered passen- 
gers. She made a jest of the incidents likely to befall 
them on their first landing. “ We must be cheerful and 
courageous,” said she, “or we shall be known as suitable 
victims of plunder, whom all may rob because all may in- 
sult with impunity. We must assume some consequence 
in directing our own movements, and, in order to be well 
served, must command rather than entreat the favors of 
our new friends. I do not mean that we should be bold, 
insolent, or disdainful, but as all are selfish in a commu- 
nity like this, and each one believes he has enough to do 
to take care of himself, we must endeavor to assert a spirit 
of independence, in order to preserve our own freedom, and 
become independent in reality.” 


152 


HENRY GOURTLAND; 


CHAPTER XXYII. 

Miss Russell landed from the same boat with Mr. Stan- 
ley and his daughter, and immediately placed herself under 
the protection and guidance of that gentleman, and accom- 
panied him to the same hotel. As is usual on such occa- 
sions, every one who had the means of bearing the expense 
was anxiously rushing forward for the purpose of securing 
comfortable accommodations, and placing himself in the 
way of having his own wants supplied in the first place. 
The struggle which was carried on for precedence in these 
particulars seemed to be one in which Mr. Stanley and his 
companions could not enter into but with disadvantage. 
Out of the number of four persons, of which their company 
consisted, and who were looking out for accommodations 
amid the strife and competition which prevailed so ex- 
tensively in relation to this subject, three of them were 
females, a class of persons who as yet had not ventured 
to cast their lot in the busy vortex of this new Eldorado, 
and whose requirements and wants, it was well known to 
all considerate landlords, demanded a special care and at- 
tention which it seemed almost impossible to supply. But 
Mr. Stanley pressed forward with the crowd, and made 
his appeal in warm and eloquent language. He was for- 
tunate in meeting with the keeper of a hotel who was 
both a Yankee and a gentleman, and who promised to do 
all for his female companions that could be effected under 
circumstances so unpropitious and discouraging. 

The building itself to which they repaired, when con- 
sidered in all its various compartments of clay, canvas, and 
wood, was large and roomy, but was so strangely put to- 
gether that, like the literary productions of some of our 
best authors, it had neither beginning, middle, nor end. It 
was extensive and capacious indeed, but was composed of 
so many particulars, apparently brought together just as 
some new exigency might require, and arranged in a style 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


153 


of such delectable confusion, that Abbottsford itself might 
make some claim to a symmetrical structure when com- 
pared with the confused mass of materials, piled up with- 
out order, and without the least regard to taste, beauty, 
or convenience. The kitchen seemed to have been first 
built, and occupied a front position amid the great 
variety of subordinate apartments by which it was flanked 
on all sides. These apartments ran into and over each 
other, like the old and dilapidated ranges of stabling 
which are still seen to adorn some of our best farms in 
remote and unfrequented counties in the Atlantic States. 
Some important appendages of the building were only 
half finished, and other portions of it, shrouded in canvas, 
and presenting the appearance of a huge babe in swad- 
dling-clothes, may be said to have been scarcely com- 
menced. But what rendered this uncouth building still 
more repulsive was the mud and dust which, according to 
the season of the year, either coated it over like the out- 
side plastering of a brick-kiln, or disfigured it with a dirty 
powder like an alderman’s wig. It was now raining, and 
Mr. Stanley and his companions were compelled to wade 
through successive layers of mud before reaching the 
hotel, which presented to their senses such an uninviting 
appearance. 

The apartment assigned to Agnes and Maggy was nar- 
row and confined, but possessed some advantages which 
gave it a decided preference over other rooms that 
might have been selected before it. It was found, in- 
deed, to be bounded on one side by a billiard- saloon, from 
which it was divided by a thin board partition, not suffi- 
ciently substantial to prevent the recognition in one apart- 
ment of words or sounds that might be uttered in the 
other. It was, moreover, furnished with no fire-place, the 
w’ant of which was at that season sensibly felt, in conse- 
quence of the cold and dampness that prevailed without, 
and there w’as not the slightest recess or closet for any- 
thing like even a meager wardrobe. As a contrast, how- 
ever, to these disadvantages, its windows looked out on 
the front street ; the room was light and airy, and it was 
so remotely situated from any of the public passages of 
the building, that its inmates wwe not likely to be dis- 
turbed by the intrusion of visitors and strangers. 


154 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


One of the first objects of Agnes was, of course, to in- 
quire after her brother. She had brought no letters of in- 
troduction with her that could make her acquainted with 
a single inhabitant of the place, having depended on the 
kindness and friendship of Mr. Marshfield for counsel and 
advice, and for the necessary information she might re- 
quire, after arriving at the end of her voyage. She was 
now compelled, however, to resort to those means of knowl- 
edge which first presented themselves, and which appeared 
to her to be the most obvious and reliable. For this pur- 
pose she made it a point, as soon as she found herself 
fairly settled in her own apartment, to effect an immediate 
interview with the landlord. We have already said that 
he was a kind and accommodating person, and always 
took pains to comply, as far as he was able, with the 
wishes and desires of his guests. But on the present 
occasion he could give Agnes but little satisfactory infor- 
mation. He told her indeed that he had heard of such a 
person as Alfred Russell, and even mentioned the name of 
the hotel at which he believed he had boarded, but he 
could not positively say what had become of him. He 
was almost sure that he had recovered from his sickness, 
and he thought he had a distinct recollection of hearing 
somebody say that he had either removed to some other 
part of California, or that he had settled up his business in 
8an Francisco, and returned home. 

Having failed in obtaining the information she wanted 
from this quarter, she was induced at once to prevail on 
Mr. Stanley to make such inquiries as would lead to a 
more correct knowledge of the matter. Her solicitude on 
account of her brother was exceedingly great, and he 
promised to prosecute his inquiries without dela}^ in such 
directions as he might believe would lead to the most 
satisfactory results. He accordingly left the hotel in the 
afternoon, with no other object in view than to obtain 
some specific information in regard to the state and cir- 
cumstances of Alfred Russell. 

During the absence of Mr. Stanley an occurrence took 
place which gave a still more extraordinary and romantic 
turn to the adventures of Agnes Russell. VVe have already 
noticed that the room or apartment she occupied with her 
companion Maggy was directly contiguous to a much 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


155 


larger one used as a billiard-saloon, and which was divided 
by a partition so thin and impressible that words uttered 
in one apartment might be distinctly heard in the other. 
But there was no door or window or aperture of any kind 
that opened an immediate communication between the two. 
The only possible means of seeing from one apartment into 
the other was from behind a shabby looking-glass, which 
Agnes accidentally discovered concealed a small opening, 
through which she was able to see objects in the adjoining 
apartment. Having made this discovery, it is not to be 
supposed that she entertained any considerations suffi- 
ciently strong to prevent her from exploring the objects 
which lay so close to her, and which, although she had 
not heretofore seen, she had heard with such loud and pal- 
pable distinctness. She accordingly applied her eye to 
the aperture in the partition, and was greatly surprised at 
the appearances which presented themselves on the other 
side. The billiard-table seemed to be deserted, as if its 
recent occupants had just retired from the apartment. 
But, leaning over the green surface on which the game is 
played, she saw two individuals, whom she immediately 
recognized to be Billy Braxton and Percy Courtland. At 
first she was ready to burst out into an exclamation of sur- 
prise and wonder ; but, remembering that Maggy was in 
the room, and that any violent movement on her part could 
not fail to reach the ears of those who were leaning over 
the billiard-table, she felt how necessary it was to obtain 
a perfect command over her own feelings. The two indi- 
viduals we have mentioned, when first discovered, were 
standing opposite a door which opened from the billiard- 
room on the landing of a stairway leading directly down 
to the main street. They appeared to be in earnest con- 
versation, speaking in a tone of voice, however, which could 
not be understood by Agnes, and every now and then look- 
ing toward the aforesaid door, as if afraid that their dis- 
course might be listened to by some one outside, or might 
be beard by persons in the street below. At length, as if 
by mutual consent, they advanced farther into the interior 
of the apartment, and approached nearer to the spot where 
Agnes stood, as if purposely to avoid being overheard by 
persons who might be lounging in or near some other part 
of the building. 


156 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


“I tell 3''ou,” said Percy, as he advanced toward the 
extremity of the room, “that his object was to ruin me in 
the City of New York, after having first treacherously poi- 
soned my mind against a kind and true-hearted father, and 
caused me to suspect the love and attachment of a faithful 
and generous brother. He is a desperate adventurer, who 
will not fail to pursue me with spite and malignity the 
moment he discovers that I have set my foot on the shores 
of California.” 

“ I know that he is seeking to injure you, and I know the 
cause of it,” answered Braxton; “ and your best plan will 
be to get out of his reach as soon as possible. I will 
take care that you shall understand more about him after 
awhile.” 

“ But how will it be possible for me to escape Captain 
Lamberton now?” said Percy, “since I am told he exer- 
cises an extraordinary influence in this region of country, 
and is connected extensively not only with its mining 
operations, but even with the political regulations which 
have been established for the government of the people.” 

“ Fly to the mountains I” exlaimed Braxton. “ Go work 
in the mines I Your fortune may yet turn out to be pros- 
perous, and you may accumulate not only wealth but 
power too, which one day or other may afford you an 
opportunity of turning the tables on your treacherous 
betrayer.” 

“ It shall even be so, then,” answered Perej’’; “ and to- 
morrow I will direct my steps to the first place I may 
have a chance of reaching with a reasonable prospect of 
success and profit.” 

This scene, and the conversation we have narrated be- 
tween the parties, and which was distinctly overheard by 
Agues, created in her bosom a feeling of concern which 
she found it almost impossible to bear without declaring 
it openly. But no person was present but Maggy, and 
this faithful girl was so busily employed at the time in 
some little pursuit of her own that slie neither observed 
the motions of Agnes nor overheard the expressions that 
came from the two individuals in the adjoining apartment. 
Nor did Agnes deem it prudent to reveal what she had 
heard and seen to her companion. She thought it would 
at least be better to postpone it for the present, until she 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


157 


should be more certainly informed of the movements and 
intentions of Percy Courtland. 

Agnes hastily replaced the small antiquated mirror she 
had removed from the partition, so as effectually to shut 
up the aperture which communicated between the two 
apartments, and then sat down to reflect on the singular 
occurrence which had just passed before her eyes. 

“It is not wonderful,” said she to herself, “that both 
Captain Lamberton and Braxton should be now in San 
Francisco, since I had reason to believe, before I left New 
York, that they contemplated sailing for California about 
the same time I myself sailed in company with Mr. 
Marshfield. It is remarkable, however, that Percy Court- 
land should be one of the first persons to salute my eyes 
after my arrival here, and under circumstances so strange 
and peculiar. But he had some acquaintance with Billy 
Braxton before he deserted his father’s dwelling, and their 
being together in a billiard-room, at an hour when its 
usual employments are not attended to, and when no per- 
sons are present but themselves, may have been occasioned 
by a desire on the part of both of them for a private and 
secluded interview. What may have exactly transpired 
between Captain Lamberton and Percy it is impossible for 
me to know ; but certain it is that the former has con- 
trived to do some injury to the latter. And yet they must 
both have sailed in the same ship, and must have arrived 
here at the same time. These are circumstances which, in 
all probability, will unfold themselves at some future 
period. But how am I to act in the interval ? Shall I 
reveal what has occurred to those around me, and en- 
deavor to avail myself of their advice and counsel ? Shall 
I make inquiries after Percy Courtland, and frankly in- 
form him of my own trials and difiSculties ? Such a course 
would do violence to my most sacred feelings, and might 
in the end only add to the sorrows of one whose own 
troubles are sufficient for the trial of his virtues and reso- 
lution. I will for the present conceal what I have heard 
and seen within my own bosom. Billy Braxton certainly 
knows I am here, and might have given this information 
to Percy if he had thought proper to do so. But for some 
reason or other he has kept this knowledge from him, and 
I have been assured not only by himself, but by Mr. 

14 


158 


HENRY COURT LAND; 


Marshfield too, when on the very verge of the grave, that 
this man is my friend. I will therefore wait the slow dis- 
closures of the future, rather than hazard my own safety, 
and perhaps the safety of Percy too, by a too precipitate 
revelation of what has taken place to-day. I will com- 
municate the secret for the present to nobody, not even to 
my brother, should I be so fortunate as to meet him ac- 
cording to my previous expectations.’’ 

Agnes rose from the chair in which she was seated, and 
stood for a few moments at one of the wipdows that looked 
out on the main street. Her feelings had been wrought 
up to a pitch of melancholy anxiety, which now weighed 
heavily on her bosom. She could not but feel the loneli- 
ness and distress of her present situation — a female — a 
stranger amid scenes and circumstances of novel and un- 
usual occurrence — friendless and helpless in a community 
of people of extraordinary selfishness — a frail and sor- 
rowful being, in pursuit of an object for which she had 
risked much and suffered much, and which was at last 
perhaps to elude her grasp, and disappoint her in the pur- 
poses of her sacred mission. “But I will not despair,” 
she said. “ Nay, I will not suffer the demon of melancholy 
to impose on my firmness and resolution. He may, in- 
deed, harass and distress me for a season, — he may take 
advantage of ray weakness and helplessness, — he may 
afflict me with sorrow and sighing, — but he must not, he 
shall not, overcome me 1” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


159 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

In the midst of these gloomy reflections, Agnes was 
surprised to behold the sudden appearance of a crowd of 
men and boys right below the window where she stood, 
now pausing and shouting, as if in sight of some object 
which they were anxious to see approach, and then moving 
along in noisy confusion to a spot a little farther down 
the street, and assembling around a gibbet, which seemed 
to have been recently erected, and from which a rope was 
suspended, as if for the purpose of doing immediate execu- 
tion on some doomed and appointed victim. The crowd 
swept along in constantly increasing masses, and the 
shouts and uproar of the mob continued to grow louder 
and louder. “Hurry! hurry!’’ exclaimed a number of 
voices from one quarter : “ pass on the scoundrel to the 
death he deserves!” “Away with the murderer and 
thief!” was shouted in another direction: “tuck him up 
to the gallows which is prepared for him ! hang the merci- 
less rascal by the neck until he shall be dead !” From 
one end of the street to the other nothing was heard but 
terrible sounds like these — nothing was seen but the wild 
movements of an infuriated mob, thirsting for the blood of 
a fellow-mortal like themselves. Presently the unfortunate 
victim was seen approaching in person. He was urged, 
or rather dragged, along by two men of fierce and brutal 
appearance, surrounded by half a- dozen others, whose 
countenances betrayed the same deadly hate and fury, 
and all of whom seemed to be anxious for that terrible 
expiation which in a few minutes was to be made by their 
unhappy victim. When they arrived at a point imme- 
diately opposite the window where Agnes was standing, 
the unfortunate man sank for a moment to the earth, over- 
powered by exhaustion, and perhaps by a sense of the 
shame which was about to rest on his memory. “ Great 
God!” he exclaimed, as he fixed his eyes on the awful 
gallows, which was planted immediately before him, “must 


160 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


I indeed die this terrible and shameful death? Canst 
thou not deliver me from the hands of these bloody and 
cruel men ?” Then turning to his persecutors, he ejaculated 
in a still more passionate, but more plaintive voice, Oh, 
my friends, do not kill me I Do not take my defenseless 
life! 1 have feelings like yourselves, and am a husband 
and father. Spare me, spare me from the dreadful doom 
of this shocking calamity ! Spare me for the sake of my 
suffering wife — for the sake of my weeping and innocent 
children!” There was a momentary pause, even on the 
part of those cruel men who were forcing him to execu- 
tion, on his uttering these melancholy words. The dense 
crowd stood motionless, and gasped, as if making an effort 
to regain its lost respiration. The man was raised again 
to his feet, and now seemed to awe the ranks of the sur- 
rounding multitude into something like tenderness and 
compassion. This was the crisis of his fate, and perhaps 
was the very moment in which an effectual appeal might 
have been made in his favor. But there was no one to 
second his own simple and passionate eloquence. All 
stood mute, because all were brought to that state of hesi- 
tating anxiety which springs from the combined feelings of 
fear, pity, and uncertainty. A single voice exerted in the 
cause of humanity — or more properly speaking, in the 
cause of justice — might have disarmed cruelty of its har- 
dened purpose, and restored the wretch, who was gasping 
within the jaws of death, to the enjoyment of freedom 
and life. 

At length this awful pause was broken by one of the 
misguided ministers of vengeance who was guarding him 
to his execution. “ Shall we go on, comrades ?” said this 
self-con&tituted vindicator of the law, as if he himself was 
doubtful of the justice as well as of the legality of the cruel 
proceeding. “ Let us do our duty !” cried another of the 
same bloody fraternity. The moment this was said a loud 
huzza was raised by the collected populace around, and the 
poor man was again hurried forward amid the noise and 
confusion of the excited mob. Again he supplicated for 
mercy, and attempted to vindicate his conduct from the 
charges brought against him. But his weak voice was 
drowned by the tremendous shouts which now, more than 
ever, demanded the sacrifice of his life. He was derided 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


161 


and insulted by the furious clamor of the exasperated mul- 
titude, and in this manner was forcibly dragged along until 
he reached the foot of the gallows. 

Here again there was a brief pause before attempting to 
inflict the fatal punishment denounced against the sufferer, 
and a brief cessation of the popular excitement which had 
hurried him to execution. Now that they had arrived be- 
neath the terrifying gibbet that was to terminate his suf- 
ferings, and saw the preparations around them for the ex- 
ecution of a summary and violent death, the very guards 
who were foremost in demanding his blood seemed to be 
almost as much overcome by these circumstances as the 
prisoner was himself. They stared at each other as if in- 
quiring who should be the first to commence the dreadful 
tragedy. The poor victim himself gazed around in sup- 
plicating bewilderment, as if still expecting some champion 
to espouse his cause, and to make an impression on the 
minds of the assembled multitude, which would in the end 
revoke his terrible sentence. 

For a few moments the feelings of the vacillating crowd 
were held in the most painful suspense. Had a vote at 
that period been taken on the subject of the prisoner’s 
doom, it might have been doubtful whether the majority 
would have cast their suffrages for execution or pardon. 
But no one attempted to interfere ; and the poor man, who 
was arraigned without a specification of his offense, and 
condemned without a hearing, it was evident to the by- 
standers, had made up his mind to submit to his fate. His 
executioners, who stood around him under the gallows, 
began to whisper in each other’s ears. They adjusted the 
platform on which he was to stand, and one of them took 
hold of the fatal rope which was to suspend him by the 
neck until he was dead. 

At that awful moment, when the pulsations of every 
heart present began to beat quicker, and the feelings of 
mercy crept from bosom to bosom, the astonished crowd 
were electrified by seeing a boy suddenly start up, as if from 
the depths of the earth, and take his station on the top of the 
platform from which the prisoner was to be launched into 
eternity. No person professed to know from whence this 
sudden apparition came, but all seemed to welcome it as a 
relief, and to regard it with that kind of superstitious 

14 * 


162 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


reverence which is so often paid to circumstances involv- 
ing the suddenness of surprise or alarm. 

The boy at once proceeded to make an earnest appeal to 
the multitude in behalf of the prisoner; but we will not 
undertake here to record the language that dropped from 
his lips. It was not that which had its effect on his 
auditors. It was the solemn and earnest manner in which 
he pointed to the prisoner — the artless motion of his hands 
in which he denounced vengeance against his murderers — 
the sincere gush of tears with which he lamented his un- 
timely and cruel fate, and with which he mourned at the 
same time the suff'erings of his far-distant wife and chil- 
dren — it was these which caused an immediate reaction in 
the breasts of the fickle multitude, and opened their eyes to 
the gross injustice they might be doing to a defenseless 
and innocent man. All eyes were astonished at the bold- 
ness, and all hearts were pleased with the truth and earn- 
estness, of the heroic boy. 

Another pause ensued, and another period of suspense 
operated on the feelings of the waiting multitude. The 
crowd around gazed at each other in the most profound 
silence, no one venturing to renew the clamor which had 
been so loud and urgent only a few minutes before. The 
guards themselves, who had the unfortunate prisoner in 
custody, seemed to be stupefied under a weight of contend- 
ing emotions which deprived them of all choice of action, 
and rendered them entirely passive under the pressure of 
surrounding circumstances. At length a more collected, 
and, it may be, a more humane, by-stander, was led to take 
advantage of the doubt and indecision which pervaded the 
minds of the leading actors in this disgraceful tragedy. 
Suddenly struggling toward the center of the ring in which 
the unfortunate man stood surrounded by his enemies, and 
placing himself at his side, he whispered a few words in 
his ear, and taking him by the arm, led him boldly forth 
through that part of the crowd which was the most dense 
and impenetrable. His keepers submitted in mute aston- 
ishment to this bold and deliberate rescue, and before they 
had time to summon to their aid the little reflection that 
was left them, the prisoner and his deliverer had effectually 
escaped from their clutches, followed by the boy who had 
been the successful cause of his being restored to liberty. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


163 


Here, then, was an example of the shocking manner in 
which, in too many instances, justice was attempted to be 
administered by those who took the law into their own 
hands, and which constituted what in California, and in- 
deed in other parts of our country, was known by the name 
of Lynch-law, Had the life of the unfortunate victim on 
this occasion been made the forfeit of his alleged crimes, 
whether the charges against him were true or false, what 
a disgrace it would have been to the social and judicial 
regulations of our country I But we thank God this bar- 
barous practice is scarcely known to exist at present among 
any class of our citizens. Law and justice are now every- 
where administered according to established forms, which 
guarantee to private individuals, as well as to the govern- 
ment at large, that security and freedom which are essen- 
tial to the welfare and prosperity of any people. 

Agnes, as we have seen, who was afterward joined by 
Maggy, was an eye-witness to that terrible delusion 
which was well-nigh causing a human being to lose his 
life. We will not attempt to describe the feelings of these 
two sorrowful females, which every succeeding step of the 
fearful tragedy that was about to be enacted was calcu- 
lated to render more deep and absorbing. The melancholy 
sight at last became truly painful, and Agnes was just 
about to turn her eyes away from the disgusting picture 
when the boy so suddenly and so strangely found his way 
to the platform from which the accused victim was to drop 
into eternity. At first she was at a loss to understand the 
movement of the venturesome youth, and was disposed to 
believe that it proceeded altogether from a spirit of mis- 
chief or bravado, resorted to for the mere purpose of grati- 
fying a vain wish to render himself conspicuous. But in 
a moment afterward she was convinced that the boy was 
endeavoring to discharge some serious task intimately con- 
nected with the fate of the poor prisoner who stood half 
dead below him ; and what rendered the scene ten times 
more interesting was, that the lad who was acting such a 
a wonderful part was no other than her quondam acquaint- 
ance, Molton Bairvievv, who on board the ship in which 
they sailed together to California had attracted so much 
of her attention and had elicited so much of her favor. 

“ In the name of wonders said she to Maggy, as soon 


164 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


as she had a distinct view of the boy mounted on the plat- 
form, and stretching forward his deprecating hands to the 
crowd that stood before him, “is not that Molton Fairview ? 
is not that the boy who came so near losing his life at Mr. 
Marshfield’s funeral, and with whom we formed such an 
intimate acquaintance before reaching this place ? Either 
it is he, or my eyes most strangely deceive me.” 

“ It is he ! it is he!” replied Maggy ; “ and bless me, how 
he seems to be pleading for the poor man’s life I But let 
him be on his guard. There is room for another on that 
gallows besides the miserable wretch whose part he seems 
to be so seriously taking.” 

“ Hush !” exclaimed Agnes, “they will not injure the 
boy — they dare not do so. It would be adding a load to 
the guilt already incurred that would be too heavy even 
for them to bear. But now he is done — and mark the 
effect he has produced on the minds of those fierce barba- 
rians. So far from wishing to murder the boy, they seem 
really at a loss to know what to do with their prisoner.” 

It was just while Agnes was uttering these words that 
the poor victim of violence was conducted away in the 
manner we have seen, and made his escape, in company 
with Molton Fairview, through the crowd. 

When Mr. Stanley returned in the evening from having 
made the inquiries concerning Alfred Russell, the result of 
which Agnes was impatiently waiting to know, she saw 
at once from his countenance that the intelligence he was 
about to communicate was not likely to be the most cheer- 
ful and satisfactory. “ I have been unable,” said he, “ to 
obtain any direct information in regard to the recent move- 
ments of your brother. The person with whom he lodged 
some time ago has changed his occupation as a landlord, 
and has gone to some of the mining districts in search of 
gold. It is pretty certain, however, that your brother, 
before that change took place, was fully restored to the 
possession of his accustomed health. When his landlord 
forsook San Francisco it is supposed that he pursued the 
same course ; and from the best reports I can obtain on 
the subject, he also either went to one of the mining dis- 
tricts, for the purpose of mending his fortune, or is now 
residing in Sacramento City.” 

This information, although it gave almost certain assur- 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


165 


ance to Agnes that her brother’s health was restored, left 
her mind entirely undecided in regard to his present loca- 
tion and his present pursuits. Nor had she any satisfac- 
tory impression of the course she ought to pursue herself. 
If her brother still remained in California, she was fully 
persuaded that it was her duty to go in search of him, or 
to try and give him notice of her arrival, and the circum- 
stances under which she was placed in San Francisco. 
But how to find him out, or, if found out, how to effect an 
interview or correspondence with him, were considerations 
very difficult to solve in her own mind. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

It must not be forgotten that at the period embracing 
the particulars of our eventful history, the government of 
California, in many of its most desirable features, was weak 
and inefficient in securing her citizens the possession of 
their legal rights. An adventurous and miscellaneous 
population, flowing in from all parts of the habitable 
globe — with different dispositions, manners, and capacities 
— with but one ruling love and desire, which was to amass 
sudden and immoderate fortunes — with the demon of selfish- 
ness haunting all the marts and thoroughfares of business, 
and urging each individual to regard his own exclusive in- 
terests supremely — scattered over a wide surface of coun- 
try, and forming a community of limited strength and 
numbers — without order, without organization, and almost 
without religion — such a population could hardly be ex- 
pected submissively to obey the laws, or to live and work 
together except by coming into frequent collisions and con- 
flicts. For the quieting and decision of these conflicts 
there was found to be no effectual tribunal ; and when it 
was discovered that justice was measured out unequally, 
each member of the community was disposed to erect a 
tribunal of justice within his own bosom, and to act from 
his own crude and imperfect ideas of what constituted 
right. The consequence was, of course, that the utmost 


166 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


disorder, so far as regarded the adjudication of individual 
disputes, prevailed throughout the whole country, and 
more especially in the mining districts. Each individual 
asserted that to be law which favored his own wishes or 
his own interests — the rights of innocent parties were 
recklessly invaded and sacrificed — and the victory was 
awarded to the strongest rather than to the most meritori- 
ous and most virtuous. 

But it was impossible that such a state of things should 
continue to exist long without leading to the rankest an- 
archy, unless opposed by some check sufficiently strong to 
awe the contending parties into restraint and submission. 
Such a check was found in the summary administration of 
what was popularly styled Lynch-law, a remedy in itself 
almost as dangerous, and in some instances quite as cruel 
and unjust, as the great evil of plunder and aggression 
from which it proposed to relieve the people. One of the 
consequences of such a policy was what we have just seen, 
an exercise of usurped power, and an unavoidable tendency 
to run into cruelty and extravagance. 

For the purpose of reforming an existing evil of such 
immense magnitude, and of placing the people of Califor- 
nia under an administration of justice which, though only 
assumed and private, would have a tendency to counter- 
act the abuses we have mentioned, some of the most 
prominent citizens entered into a confederacy to enforce law 
and order, as far as possible, under their own immediate 
supervision and sanction. Violence and plunder were 
prohibited under the severest penalties — the rights of pos- 
session to particular locations for mining purposes were 
sacredly respected — and individual property was thus 
secured from violation in the hands of its possessors. One 
of the objects which Mr. Stanley had in visiting California 
was to attach himself to this corps of private rulers, and 
to exhort the people residing in different districts to a re- 
formation of tlieir social life, — a step he was invited to pur- 
sue by some of his friends who had preceded him in this 
work, and whose labors were known to have a most salu- 
tary effect on the habits and disposition of the people. Cap- 
tain Lamberton himself had contrived to become a mem- 
ber of this committee of reform, and government winked 
at an establishment which, although disorderly in itself, 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


167 


seemed to be necessary to the safety and tranquillity of the 
country. 

When Billy Braxton (for we are still disposed to call 
him by a name which was more familiar to his old friends 
of the neighborhood of Courtland Hall than any other) 
separated from Percy Courtland at the billiard-saloon, he 
proceeded immediately to the counting-room of Captain 
Lamberton, which was situated in a remote part of the 
city, and which formed the appendage of a building of much 
larger size, but of uncouth proportions, where Captain Lam- 
berton transacted a pretty extensive business. As soon 
as this latter person saw Braxton, although there was no 
one present with him at the time, he beckoned him to fol- 
low to a more interior apartment leading into the main 
building, which was a kind of box or crypt that seemed 
designed for secret business, and which was so dark that 
the two individuals when together could with difficulty 
distinguish each other’s features. Lamberton drew Brax- 
ton toward him, and shut the door behind. 

“ And so Marshfield is dead,” said the Captain, “ and 
she has arrived in safety without him ? But you say she 
has other companions — a clergyman and his daughter, and 
a maid who constantly waits on her ?” 

“ As to the clergyman,” said Braxton, ‘‘he is not a regu- 
lar preacher, but is, as you know, on the committee of 
reform, and will, perhaps, to-morrow set out for the 
interior.” 

“ Yes; his name is Stanley,” said Lamberton. “ He is 
not likely to give us any trouble. I was informed of his 
proposed visit some time ago. But there is Percy Court- 
land — we have ten thousand times more reason to fear 
him. Is it not strange that he should have been in the 
same ship with us all the way from Kew York, and we 
not be apprised of the fact ? Why, if I had received the 
least notice of his sailing along with us, I should have 
been almost ready to contrive some method to pitch him 
overboard. He must be looked to.” 

“ I think we shall get rid of him, too,” said Braxton, 
“without the danger of much annoyance. He has already 
started for the mines.” 

“ That is capital I” exclaimed his companion. “ Pre- 
cisely what I could have wished for if I had been consulted 


168 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


in the matter myself. Of course he does not know that she 
has arrived, and they are both ignorant of each other’s 
movements ? Now let me see. Alfred Russell has like- 
wise disappeared, and some even go so far as to say that 
he sailed in the last steamer for the City of New York. 
As to the maid, she is but a weak, silly girl, and I have 
nothing to fear from her. Is it not remarkable, my dear 
Braxton, that everything seems to favor my wishes so 
exactly ? But this Percy Courtland may, after all, be 
possessed of some qualities which, if drawn out by a 
knowledge of the circumstances with which we ourselves 
are acquainted, might cause us no little embarrassment. 
He must be looked to, Braxton. You understand me.” 

“Certainly I do,” replied Braxton, “and I pledge my 
word to you, captain, that if he gets beyond the reach of 
my immediate observation it will not be with my own 
consent.” 

“ You are right, Braxton — you are a good fellow!” an- 
swered Lamberton. “And henceforth it only remains that 
I should make my arrangements to visit Miss Russell. 
But it would not be proper for me to do so to-day. She 
must have a little time to rest, and to recover from her 
disappointment in not meeting her brother as she-expected. 
I will call on her to-morrow. In the mean while, my dear 
Braxton, do not be out of reach, should I conclude in my 
mind, before making the expected visit, that I stand in 
need of your services.” 

At that moment a slight tap with the finger was made 
on the outside of the only pane of glass that lit up this 
secret domicile, on which Captain Lamberton immediately 
remarked, — 

“ I am wanted there on business. Remain here for a 
few minutes, and then pass silently through the counting- 
room, and no one will know that we have been closeted 
together in this secret apartment.” 

Braxton continued to remain where he was, agreeably 
to the instructions so cautiously given to him by his com- 
panion. Then straining his eyes through the pane of glass, 
as if half afraid he was left behind for some sinister pur- 
pose, “ That man,” said he to himself, after a short pause, 
“ is a scoundrel, and he confidently believes that I am of 
his own character. God knows how often I have been 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


169 


almost persuaded to believe that myself. I have spent one 
part of my life as Billy Braxton — as the poor witless fool 
who was half-pitied and half-despised for his simplicity- — 
as an indolent loafer who, like Samson, Avas fed and caressed 
for the purpose of making sport for his revilers — as a knave 
placed at the tables of the idle and affluent, in order to re- 
ceive the charitable reward of meat and drink for every con- 
temptible jest I uttered. That was a temptation which 
I despised from my heart, but which I found it almost im- 
possible to resist. But now I am beset by other tempta- 
tions — by the alluring prospect of rising to eminence in 
the world — by the glitter of wealth and power — by the 
expectation of regaining that position in society Avhich my 
indolence and weakness so carelessly forfeited. I am in- 
vited to become a scoundrel like the man who has just left 
me, and the evil one offers me all the kingdoms of the 
earth if I will but fall down and worship him. What a 
terrible struggle to be left suspended in choice between 
good and evil — between integrity and contempt — between 
the plaudits of a clear conscience and the fear of sinking 
into neglect and obscurity. When I Avas nothing but poor 
Billy Braxton the combat Avas carried on against ray intel- 
lect — noAV that I am aspiring to be something greater it is 
Avaged against ni}^ heart. But in either case I am bound to 
fight it out — and in either case God knows the battle must 
be a severe one!’’ 

Having thus soliloquized, Braxton silently Avithdrew 
from the shadowy light of the apartment to Avhich he had 
been conducted, and passed through the counting-room 
Avhich he had crossed a few minutes before. But he 
Avas surprised to find that it was again utterly deserted. 
Neither Captain Lamberton nor any other human being 
was to be seen within its limits. 

“ It is even so,” thought Braxton, as he passed out into 
the open street, and mingled Avith the busy croAvd engaged 
in the struggle and excitement of business ; “ I verily 
believe this man is half ashamed or half afraid to own me 
as an equal companion, and hence contrives that Ave shall 
not be seen together even by those Avho are his clerks and 
assistants in the transaction of his suspicious schemes of 
trade and speculation. I am only valued according to his 
hopes of making me accessory to a measure by which he 

15 


no 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


expects to advance his own sensual ease and enjoyment, at 
the expense of depriving a virtuous and innocent indi- 
vidual — a high-minded and accomplished young lady — of 
all earthly happiness.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

The next morning Captain Lamberton repaired early to 
his counting-room, for the purpose of giving some special 
instructions to those who were more immediately engaged 
in his service. He had not been there long before a boy intro- 
duced himself into the apartment, and made some inquiries 
about obtaining employment. At first the captain paid little 
attention to the boy’s application, and proceeded in turning 
over the* pages of one of his folio ledgers without bestow- 
ing on him the least notice. The boy stood a minute or 
two waiting for an answer, but finding that he was entirely 
overlooked and neglected, he had already turned on his 
heels, and started to leave the premises, when Lamberton 
looking up, and casting his eyes after him, immediately 
called him back. 

“ I would judge, my boy,” said the captain, ‘‘that your 
proud spirit vastly exceeds the amount of money in your 
pocket. But I do not wonder at it, since, if I am not mis- 
taken, I believe I behold in you the same wonderful youth 
who yesterday cheated the crowd out of a victim whom 
they had prepared for the gallows.” 

“ I understand you, sir,” said our acquaintance, Molton 
Eairview ; “ I am that same person.” 

“ And what are you able to do,” asked his interrogator, 
“supposing I felt an inclination to take you into my ser- 
vice ?” 

“I could improve my handwriting a little,” observed 
Molton, “ and fit myself I hope for some station by which 
I would be able to make myself useful, and raise a little 
money at the same time.” 

“Very good!” said Captain Lamberton — “and I sup- 
pose the making money would be your principal object ?” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


in 


“It ou^ht not to be,” answered Molton. “But I have 
a mother” — here he turned away his head and paused, as 
if at a loss to know how to proceed further in his dis- 
course. 

Captain Lamberton seemed to labor under a momentary 
embarrassment himself, and hesitated some time before 
making any further answer. At length rousing himself, 
as if a sudden thought had just passed through his mind — 
“ I think I have it,” he exclaimed, “but I must first learn 
a little more of your former pursuits and engagements. 
What is your name ?” 

“Molton Fairview,” answered the boy. 

“And where did you come from, and how were you em- 
ployed before you concluded to seek your fortune in Cali- 
fornia ?” 

“ I was employed as a newsboy in the City of New 
York,” said Molton — “ but I have a mother, and that em- 
ployment did not yield us any very great profit.” 

“ But I presume it helped to sharpen your wits,” replied 
the captain, “ although I can scarcely hope that it served 
much to mend your morals. I am at a greater loss to 
know how you found your way to this country, seeing you 
were poor, and in all probability destitute of the means of 
providing for your passage.” 

“ That provision,” said Molton, “was made by a gen- 
tleman under whose protection I was permitted to sail, and 
in whose company I landed in this city. He is about to 
proceed to some of the mines, and he gave me the choice* 
of remaining behind, and seeking my fortune in my own 
way. ” 

“Very well,” observed Captain Lamberton; “ but per- 
haps it would be as well, after all, that you too should 
visit the mines for the present, until it shall be in my 
power to provide some employment for you which will 
suit your taste and disposition better. As I said just 
now, 1 have the scheme in my head, and I think it will 
answer.” 

Here the captain took Molton aside, where their con- 
versation could not be so well overheard by the different 
individuals who were employed by him in the counting- 
room, and commenced giving him a detailed account of 
the duties he should expect him to perform at the par- 


172 


IIENR Y CO UR TLA ND ; 


ticular point to which he intended sending liim. The 
great object of his mission, howev^er, amounted simply to 
this, — Molton was to go to the Mokeliimne mines, for the 
purpose of making inquiries about and watching the move- 
ments of Percy Courtland, who, as Captain Lamberton 
had been informed that very morning, was either engaged 
in mining operations connected with that particular dis- 
trict, or had some other employment in the immediate 
neighborhood. The captain, being considered in the world 
as a shrewd man himself, had little difficulty in discover- 
ing the sharpness of our young adventurer Molton Fair- 
view, and soon came to the conclusion that he was the 
very person to discover and put him in possession of the 
information he required. 

After this had been concluded on, Lamberton prepared 
for his contemplated visit to Agnes Russell. In his en- 
deavors to promote this scheme according to his precon- 
ceived notions on the subject, his mind was necessarily 
brought to a state of much embarrassment. In his first 
efforts to disclose to her the object he had in view, he was 
well aware that he would expose himself at once to the 
charge of baseness and treachery.’ It was true that he 
harbored no design of attacking her virtue, or of imposing 
on her confidence and credulity. He was sincerely de- 
sirous of wooing her as his wife, and his intention was to 
convince her of this desire with strict ingenuousness and 
candor. All his schemes had for their end this one ob- 
ject. It was for this object alone that he had operated on 
the mind of Mr. Marshfield, who was at first entirely 
ignorant of his purpose, so as to induce him, in connection 
with Braxton, to persuade Agnes to visit California. It 
was for this purpose too that he had tried to deceive and 
mislead Percy Courtland, whose feelings were embittered 
by him against his father and his brother, and whose pros- 
pects of advancement in the City of New York were 
mainly frustrated through his instrumentality. It was 
for this reason too that he was trying to make a tool of 
Braxton, and believed him to be entirely wedded to his 
interests. And for the same purpose he was now making 
inquiries after Percy Courtland, in order that he might, if 
possible, avoid his interference in a matter so important 
to his wishes. But he very well knew that not one of 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 173 

these schemes could be justified on the score of either 
honor, fairness, or the ordinary civilities that are due from 
one fellow-being to another. And what caused him no 
little uneasiness was, that he was strongly convinced in 
his own mind that Agnes Russell had received direct in- 
formation from more than one source of the cruel machi- 
nations he had practiced against her dearest friends, and 
of the objects he had in view in decoying her from home, 
and bringing her, friendless and helpless, to be confronted 
by his unreasonable persecutions in a land of strangers. 
He had not forgotten the letter which, in an unguarded 
moment, he had written to Billy Braxton, and which he 
saw it was possible that individual might make known to 
the very person who, above all others, he would not wish to 
see it. No wonder that he should feel greatly perplexed 
in seeking an interview, the result of which he had so 
much reason to believe would turn out unfavorable to his 
plans and wishes. But, like most desperate men, he relied 
more on a blind chance for success than on any just pros- 
pect of accomplishing his purposes in reason. He accord- 
ingly resolved to execute his scheme with boldness, and 
not readily to relinquish his purpose, even if he should 
meet with the most decided opposition in the first in- 
stance. 

• Agnes had been speaking to her companion, Maggy, in a 
tone that was at once tender and dignified. Mr. Stanley 
and his daughter had just called to bid them farewell, as 
it was absolutely necessary for the former to visit Sacra- 
mento in a few days, in order to attend the approaching 
convention, and he had business to see after in other dis- 
tricts fully sufficient to occupy his time until it should be 
necessary for him to appear in that city. 

We have spent but one night in California,” said 
Agnes to Maggy, and I must confess that night to me 
has been a long and dreary one. I cannot but realize the 
peculiar difficulties attending our situation, and the hard- 
ships to which we may be exposed before we can reason- 
ably hope for relief. Mr. Marshfield, the only sure friend 
in whom I could confide, is dead, and my brother has dis- 
appeared from the country, or, if still remaining in the 
neighborhood, is at present beyond our reach. The hap- 
pening of these two contingencies has rendered our situa- 

15 * 


174 


HENR Y CO UR TLAND ; 


tion mournful and precarious. But we must not lose 
heart, Maggy. Let us endeavor to believe that God will 
raise us up friends. For the present it will be necessary 
for us to remain where we are, until we shall receive some 
certain tidings from my brother, or until some other event 
shall transpire to convince us what course it will be best 
for us to pursue.” 

Maggy had no time to reply to these remarks before a 
slight tap was heard at the door of the apartment, and the 
landlord announced to Agnes, Captain Lamberton. Tl>is 
announcement seemed to surprise Maggy a good deal, but 
it was heard by Agnes without occasioning her any strik- 
ing signs of alarm or trepidation. It was, indeed, but a 
visit that she had been anticipating since her first arrival 
in San Francisco, and which she now received with so 
much composure that Captain Lamberton himself was 
somewhat astonished at her firmness. 

“ I hope. Miss Russell,” he proceeded to say, as soon as 
he found himself seated, “that my visit will be received 
l)y you kindly, as I have no doubt you must believe it 
proceeds from the best of motives.” 

“ It is difficult for me to judge of your motives. Captain 
Lamberton,” replied Agnes; “but our slight acquaintance 
heretofore is scarcely a sufficient apology for your present 
visit, unless you have some special reason for doing me 
that honor.” 

“I am well aware,” said the captain, “that you have 
felt disappointed in not meeting with your brother in 
this place, who would have been your natural protector; 
more especially as you were so sadly deprived by the way 
of the friendship and support of Mr. Marshfield. Nothing, 
I am sure, would give me greater pleasure than to make 
uj) that loss in my own person ” 

“That loss, I trust,” said Agnes, “will be supplied 
from a source in which I can repose more confidence, and 
from which I may hope for more consolation.” 

“ Pardon me, Miss Russell,” returned Captain Lamber- 
ton, “ but I really cannot understand you. Your language 
would seem to indicate that I had either done 3^011 some 
serious injury already, or that I meditate its perpetration 
at some future time. Now, I am sure, if I comprehend 
my own intentions, that my sole design in visiting vou 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


175 


this morning has been to do you a kindness, rather thati 
expose you to the slightest danger or difficulty.” 

“It pains me to say,” answered Agnes, “that I am not 
exactly of the same opinion. I am, indeed, almost friend- 
less so far as regards my dependence on earthly support. 
I have been induced — induced mainly by yourself, per- 
haps — to expose my person to the dangers of a perilous 
voyage — to endure hardships and sorrow — to separate 
myself thousands of miles from those who are near and 
dear to me — to east my lot under the most trying circum- 
stances among perfect strangers — to brave calamity and 
insult, with no one but this poor girl, as weak and defense- 
less as myself, to stand by and console me. I have en- 
countered all this, and suffered it all, and far more serious 
difficulties and sorrows may still await me. Yes, God 
knows how much I feel the want of earthly comfort and 
consolation, — but I crave it not from you, — I fly not for 
refuge to one who, I have reason to believe, will deceive 
and betray me. Oh, Captain Lamberton!” she exclaimed, 
rising from her chair, and regarding him with a counte- 
nance which was at once benignant and determined, “you 
have just said that you came here this morning to do me a 
kindness. I seek not to know what your intended kind- 
ness is. But this 1 will say, — and say it from the bottom 
of my heart — say it with an earnestness and sincerity 
which I hope you will excuse, — that the greatest kindness 
you can do me this morning will be at once to leave this 
apartment.” 

Captain Lamberton had seen some dangers in the course 
of his life, and was by no means destitute of that courage 
and nerve which frequently serve men in their greatest 
extremities. But on the present occasion his firmness 
seemed to forsake him. He bit his lips in anguish — per- 
haps in remorse of heart — and colored to the very brows. 
Agnes crossed over to the other side of the room, folded 
her arms, and, regardless of her visitor, stood looking out 
at the window. At length the captain rose and ex- 
claimed, — with more warmth, perhaps, than he at first 
intended, — 

“ Such treatment as this is insupportable — it is insult- 
ing to the individual against whom it is directed — it is 
more than a gentleman ought to put up with even from 


HEXli r CO Uli TL - 1 XT) ; 


UG 

female whim and petulance. But I will try to be calm. 
I will try to think that the heart of Agnes Russell never 
intended to express what her unguarded language would 
seem to imply.’’ 

As he spoke these words, Maggy very significantly 
opened the door of the apartment, and stood with the 
latch in her hand, as if impatient of his delay, and bluntly 
inviting his departure. This conduct on the part of the 
maid the captain was disposed to consider as an aggrava- 
tion of the insult he had already received from her mis- 
tress. He, passed her with a sullen and menacing aspect. 
But neither Magg}^ nor Agnes showed him any further at- 
tention. They suffered him to depart in silence, and the 
moment he got outside the door, the former closed it im- 
patiently after him. 

When he had gone, Agnes came forward, and said to 
her companion, “ That man, Maggy, may give your poor 
mistress some trouble. But I cannot treat him other- 
wise than I have done — otherwise than 1 think he de- 
serves.” 

“ Pooh !” exclaimed Maggy, “ I think you treated him 
onh^ too kind, and ought to have been at quits with him 
at once. I watched the creature from the beginning, and 
saw that there was no good likely to come out of him. I 
only wonder where he got the assurance to become your 
defender, when his assistance was never asked for, and we 
scarcely knew there was such a being as himself in exist- 
ence. For my part, I am sure that I never thought of 
meeting him in this place ; and I believe if it had not been 
for your own sake, I would have shown him the door in 
much less time than it took him to come over all the fine 
things we heard him parade before us this morning.” 

“ We must not be rude, Maggy,” said Agnes, “ even to 
those who would do us an injury, although I am sore 
afraid that my own conduct might have been somewhat 
more civil toward Captain Lamberton. But,” she con- 
tinued, as if apologizing to herself for treatment on her 
part which she found it almost impossible to avoid, “ how 
is the mind to preserve its proper temper when the heart is 
breaking under a deep sense of its loneliness and sorrow, 
and when you have reason to believe that the individual 
who professes to sympathize with you in your misfortunes 


Ofl, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


in 


is your g-reatest enemy, and is seeking to betray yon with 
a kiss? Oh, how hard it is to bear both the sorrows and 
the insults of the world at the same time ! How exceed- 
ingly difficult it is to exercise a mild and gentle temper, 
when you are sensible of being surrounded by hypocritical 
enemies, who, in the name of humanity and mercy, are 
seeking to injure you, in order to gratify their own cruel 
selfishness I I must confess that my poor, wounded heart 
is almost too feeble for such fierce and trying temptations.” 
Here Agnes turned for a moment from Maggy, and, in the 
bitterness of her grief, poured forth a torrent of tears. 
They seemed to come to her relief, and in a short time 
afterward she recovered her usual calmness and serenity. 

Captain Lamberton fled in haste from the apartment of 
Miss Russell, and sought an interview with his compan- 
ion, Billy Braxton. His feelings had been wrought up to 
a degree of exasperation which it was impossible for him 
to keep concealed within his own bosoin. “ Disdainful, 
affected prude,” he kept saying to himself, as he passed 
along the public thoroughfares leading from the hotel down 
to the water’s side, — “^miserable minion of a misguided 
feeling, which she is determined nothing shall correct, be- 
cause nothing is dearer to her than the gratification of her 
own headstrong will, — either you or I must become wearied 
in a chase wiiich I am resolved shall go forward from 
this very moment. We start together to-day, and it will go 
hard but that the wreath shall adorn my own brow ere you 
have time to reach the proposed goal. The impudent up- 
start — the incorrigible fool — I Avill teach her that there 
are other hearts as sensitive and as headstrong as her 
own !” 

While indulging in such reflections as these. Captain 
Lamberton arrived at a steamboat landing, where he found 
l^raxton busy in fitting out Molton Fairview for his in- 
tended trip to Sacramento City. “Let the boy go with- 
out further instructions,” said he to Braxton. “ I have 
put him in possession of his commission, and I am con- 
vinced that he has wit enough to execute it without any 
additional interference on your part.” Then, leading Brax- 
ton aside, he continued: “I have seen her, and have 
been spurned from her presence — ay, have been indig- 
nantly banished from her apartment with disdain and 


178 


HENR y CO UR TL A AD ; 


contempt. The proud-hearted vixen — the infatuated 
dunce — she is weak enough to suppose that I may be 
corrected like a truant school-boy — that I may be 
mocked, beaten, and trampled upon like the slave of 
some cruel tyrant who is begging for his life ! But 
I am determined she shall know better — that she shall 
become more thoroughly acquainted with the meanness of 
her feminine audacity, and the dignity of my own char- 
acter. Let her look to it! It will be my turn to threaten 
and torture hereafter !” 

hope it will be hereafter,’^ said Braxton, “for really, 
Captain Lamberton, you hardly appear to know what you 
are saying at present. Your disturbed temper seems to 
have run away with your judgment.” 

“What, sir!” cried Captain Lamberton, “am I to be 
lectured and hooted at by a foolish girl, and not stop to 
vindicate my own manhood ? What would you have me 
do?” 

“I would have you to be calm, for one thing,” answered 
Braxton, “ the rest will follow of itself.” 

“ But I won’t be calm ! I can’t be calm !” cried the cap- 
tain. “ I have been wronged, and it is only right that I 
should seek for redress !” 

“ Then seek it in a proper manner,” said Braxton. 
“ Do not let your haste outrun the accomplishment of 
your purpose.” 

“ The tortured worm may writhe in agony,” continued 
the captain, “ without the possibility of opposition or re- 
venge. But I am not a worm, to be plagued and trampled 
upon with impunity.” 

“ Nor are you a lion,” returned Braxton, “ to rend your 
prey on the least show of provocation. Why, look you, 
captain, this same Agnes Bussell, after all, may be ten 
times more gentle, and fifty times more tractable, "than you 
take her to be. You are surely doing yourself a great in- 
jury by regarding that as an affront which was only 
meant as an invitation to further importunity. Do not 
despair at the first repulse, but tiy the experiment over 
again, always bearing in mind the old saying, that a faint 
heart never gained a fair lady.” 

“ Good sir !” replied the captain, “ would you have me 
to fall down at the feet of one who is not only supercilious 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 1*79 

and haughty, but who is grossly insulting both in her 
language and manners? Would you have me kiss the 
rod that is used without justice and without mercy ?” 

I would just have you act and feel,” answered Brax- 
ton, “as other men would do on such occasions. You 
must make your cunning an offset against her own rash- 
ness, and bring your more deliberate judgment to correct 
her inconsiderate impetuosity,” 

“That is,” said Lamberton, “I must misconstrue the 
plain meaning of her language, deny the truth and sincer- 
ity of her professed feelings, and shut my eyes to the rigor 
and expression of her inflamed countenance. In other 
words, I must believe she is a heartless hypocrite in the 
midst of her tears and lamentations, and notwithstanding 
the warmth and earnestness of her protestations to the 
contrary.” 

“Just so,” replied Braxton. “All sensible lovers of our 
own sex pursue a course like this, and why should you not 
do the same ? Try it for a season at least, and if the 
result should disappoint your expectations, you will in the 
end be no worse off* than you are at present.” 

“ Well ! w^ell !” said the captain, “your counsel sounds 
less unreasonable to me now than it would have done an 
hour ago. I will endeavor, my dear Braxton, to follow 
your advice, although I must confess that I entertain 
great doubts of its ultimate result.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

• 

We have already intimated that as soon as Captain 
Lamberton withdrew from the apartment of Miss Rus- 
sell, the feelings of that young lady became overwhelmed 
in the deepest anguish. While she began to see more 
and more clearly the dark designs of a man who, not- 
withstanding his heartlessness and treachery, endeavored 
to make her believe that he was her sincerest bene- 
factor and friend, she could not but become painfully sen- 
sible of her own destitution and loneliness. And what 


180 


HE NR Y CO UR TLAND ; 


hope could she entertain of freeing herself from the unfor- 
tunate situation in which she was placed? All the infor- 
mation she was able to obtain concerning her brother was 
so vague and indistinct that it was entirely insufficient to 
flatter her wishes, or give her any certain assurance of the 
course she ought to pursue in order to discover his wan- 
derings. She had, indeed, seen Percy Courtland, and had 
reason to believe that he had found employment some- 
where in the neighborhood, but there were many consider- 
ations of a delicate nature that she found it impossible to 
overlook, sufficient in themselves, as she believed, to prevent 
her from making known her situation to him, even if it had 
been in her power. Neither could any certain dependence 
be placed on Mr. Stanle}^ as that gentleman had business 
in other parts to look to, which exclusively demanded his 
whole attention for the present, and which necessarily de- 
prived her of the society of himself and his daughter. 
These were circumstances that might well have distressed 
a stouter heart than that possessed by Agnes Russell. 

In addition to this, the apartment in the hotel occupied 
by herself and Maggy, when taken in connection with the 
unprotected situation in which she was left, was calculated 
to cast a still deeper gloom over her mind and spirits. She 
was not aware that any other females were inmates of the 
hotel but themselves. Their meals were served up in their 
own lodging-room, and the landlord was almost the only 
person who came within reach of them during the day. 
Besides, they were exposed to the noise and confusion, not 
to say the blackguardism and profanity, which were dis- 
tinctly heard from the adjoining billiard-room. No wonder 
that the mind of Agnes Russell was ready to droop and 
give way under circumstances so melancholy and discour- 
aging. E vei\ Maggy herself would fall into temporary fits 
of low spirits, which it required all the energy and good 
nature of her mistress to dispel. 

In the course of the afternoon which succeeded the mem- 
orable visit made by Captain Lamberton to the apartment 
in the hotel occupied by Agnes and her companion, the 
former, in order perhaps to give some employment and re- 
pose to her mind after the violent exercise it had under- 
gone in the morning, was occupied in overhauling the con- 
tents of a moderate-sized trunk, which constituted the 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


181 


entire wardrobe belonging to the two females. Maggy sat 
on a chair at some distance from her kind mistress, occa- 
sionally glancing through the window at the passengers 
who were parading the streets below, but oftener casting 
her eyes in melancholy silence on the floor, and sometimes 
stealthily applying a handkerchief she held in her hands to 
her eyes, as if wiping away a moisture which she was un- 
willing should be noticed by her mistress. 

“You are sad this afternoon, Maggy,” said Agnes, as- 
suming an air of cheerfulness which by no means accorded 
with the feelings of her heavy heart — “you are sad this after- 
noon, and I can plainly perceive are indulging in melan- 
choly reflections. But cheer up, my girl. This must not be. 
You are the only human being to keep me in countenance 
under my present troubles, and should you fail or desert 
me, I am afraid my own weak heart would sink under the 
weight of its increasing sorrows.” 

“ Do not fear me,” answered Maggy, rousing herself 
from the deep reverie into which she had unconsciously 
fallen — “do not fear me. Miss Agnes. I may, indeed, be 
brought to grieve a little sometimes, which 1 hope you will 
be ready and willing to forgive; but as to deserting you, 
that you know can never, never happen. I have just been 
going back in my fancy to the occupations and pleasures of 
Courtland Hall. I was thinking of its beautiful fields and 
flowers — of its rich pastures — of its plentiful fruits — of its 
charming walks — and of the many delightful employments 
which you and I were almost daily engaged in. I was 
recalling the times when you, and Percy, and the rest of 
them used to be so gay and cheerful, and I could not help 
thinking how much happier we were then than we are 
now. But after all it was but a kind of day-dream which 
I think will not often disturb my fancy, for you taught me 
long ago that our truest happiness consists in doing good, 
and 1 think if I can only serve you as I ought to do, I shall 
enjoy a peaceful and happy mind here, if even deprived of 
my former blessings.” 

It now became Miss Russell’s turn to shed tears, which 
she was forced to do in spite of her own efforts to cheer 
the drooping spirits of her companion. Maggy had touched 
on a chord which at once responded to the language and 
images of her simple and feeling address. But her mis- 

16 


182 


IIESRY COURTLAND; 


tress soon rallied. “ It is true,” said Agnes, “we have 
forfeited the brightest and purest joys of our lives — the 
kindness of friends — the exquisite delights of domestic 
happiness — but as you say, Maggy, if we are but brought 
to tread in the path of duty, our enjoyments may still be 
great, and oiir peace hereafter, whether in this world or in 
the world to come, will be proportioned to our present 
sufferings.” 

At the moment she uttered these words her eyes were 
attracted to the small looking-glass, which we have had 
occasion to mention above as being suspended over the 
aperture communicating with the adjoining billiard-saloon, 
and which was now visibly put in motion by a force ap- 
plied to it from the opposite side. This force seemed to 
be exerted two or three times, as if on purpose to attract 
the attention of those who occupied the apartment; and 
immediately afterward a folded note, addressed to Miss 
Agnes Russell, Avas seen to drop on the table that stood 
under the glass. Agnes stepped to the table and took up 
the note, Avhich she found to read as follows : 

“The treachery which you suspect from a certain quar- 
ter is real, but do not manifest too much alarm on the sub- 
ject. It will be your best course at present to behave 
toward your persecutor with mildness, temper, and affa- 
bility, and even to comply with his wishes in everything 
that may not seem to be unreasonable. The time for A^our 
liberation and triumph will come hereafter, and will be 
hastened by him who now subscribes himself 

“Your Unknoavn Friend.” 

The mind of Agnes Avas not a little agitated on reading 
this brief but extraordinary note. From Avhat source could 
it have emanated, and Avho Avas the person who had suffi- 
cient poAver to deliver her from the threatened dangers by 
which she was surrounded? That the persecutor alluded 
to could mean no other person than Captain Lamberton 
she did not pretend to entertain the least doubt; and yet 
how was she sure that this professed readiness to befriend 
and deliver her Avas not a part of that very treachery Avhich 
was so positively pronounced to exist against her, and that 
the whole scheme might have been got up by Lamberton 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO., 


183 


himself for the purpose of lulling her into a dangerous 
security ? She examined the handwriting with the utmost 
carefulness and scrutiny, but without being able to discover 
that it corresponded in any manner with that of her brother 
or of Percy Courtland, the only persons who were the most 
likely to exert themselves in her behalf. With the hand- 
writings of Lamberton and Braxton she did not pretend 
to be acquainted, and therefore it was out of her power to 
form any judgment on the subject so far as regarded those 
gentlemen. And yet, on a little more reflection, she did 
not think it impossible but that the note might have been 
written by the latter individual. She remembered the 
hints that he himself had given of the assistance he might 
some day or other be able to render her, and the injunction 
Mr. Marshfield had laid on her to be guided by his coun- 
sels. The recollection of these circumstances made a deep 
impression on her mind, and perhaps was the principal 
reason why she so freely disclosed her perplexity on the 
occasion to Maggy. She first read the note to this warm- 
hearted and affectionate girl, and then remarked on it as 
follows: 

I cannot possibly tell who is the author of these lines. 
I am persuaded they were not written by my brother, or 
by Percy Courtland. Do you think, Maggy, they could 
have been written by Captain Lamberton 

“ I do not pretend to much scholarship, as you know,” 
replied Maggy, “'nor have I always the best judgment in 
determining who may do this, or who may do that. But, 
so far as regards the matter now before us, I should hardly 
think these lines were written by Captain Lamberton. I 
believe he never would have written them unless in some 
way or other he expected to receive for his trouble an im- 
mediate and certain benefit. This, however, cannot be 
the case. From the knowledge he has of your ladyship’s 
disposition, I don’t see how he could expect to be much 
benefited by this note himself, or how he could have calcu- 
lated on its doing you any very serious injury.” 

A moment’s reflection seemed to convince Agnes that 
there might be a great deal of truth in what Maggy said. 
“But,” she continued, “to whom am 1 to charge its 
authorship ? Except those persons whose names 1 have 
already mentioned, I cannot think of any other individual 


184 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


bat one who would be at all likely to become interested in 
our fortunes, and that individual, 1 am afraid you will say, 
has neither the means nor the disposition to do so.’’ 

‘‘ Perhaps you mean Billy Braxton,” said Maggy, who 
had learned casually from Agnes of this singular man’s 
arrival in California. “ Now, respecting this strange mortal, 
I scarcely know what to say. He has changed so entirely 
since he left the neighborhood of Courtland Hall, and has 
wrapped himself up in so much mystery, that, begging 
your pardon. Miss Agnes, I hardh’" know whether he be 
man, spirit, or demon. And yet I sometimes think (for I 
have not forgotton my old liking for Billy) that he may 
really be a much better person than we take him to be. I 
am sure, for my part, that I would by no means be sur- 
prised out of my senses if this same strange creature 
should one day or other prove our friend. And now, as I 
am just reminded, I have some recollection of this man’s 
handwriting, for he often employed himself in copying 
what he called sentiments, and reading them whenever he 
had a chance of making them produce him a good dinner. 
Let me inspect the note with my own eyes.” 

Then, taking the paper into her hands, and viewing it 
attentively, she continued: 

“ Well, if this be Billy Braxton’s handwriting, I think 
he must have taken some pains to improve it lately. His 
capital letters seem to be more gracefully formed, and 
don’t lean half as much as they did when I used to pick 
up scraps of what he called his sentiments from the dinner- 
table. But this twist in the double /is very much like 
his, and so is the shape of the r, which he always made 
plainer, I guess, than most gentlemen who consider them- 
selves good clerks. And then I see that he sometimes 
neglects to dot his Ps, which is just what he always did 
when he was writing for the farmers in the country, and 
which I used to tell him looked very much like his own 
crooked powder-horn when he had no stopper to it. I 
can’t say for certain, Mi«s Agnes, but I am sure there is 
nothing here which flatly contradicts the handwriting of 
our old friend Billy Braxton.” 

“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Agnes, “for I 
feel a very strong inclination to follow the advice con- 
tained in this paper.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAM DO. 


185 


Agnes felt some concern in regard to the contents of 
the note conveyed in the manner we have mentioned 
from the billiard-room into her own apartment ; but after 
mature reflection she came to the conclusion that her 
safest course would be to respect it as a communication 
dictated by the kindness of a friend, and to be guided by 
its suggestions. She was confirmed in this resolution still 
more by the prying curiosity of Maggy, who, after being 
made acquainted with the secret aperture communicating 
between the two apartments, busied herself somewhat 
more than accorded with the approbation of her mistress 
in watching the motions of the parties on the opposite 
side, and reporting them, as if placed on guard to detail 
the manoeuvres of an enemy. While engaged in making 
one of these reports to her mistress, she suddenly stopped 
short, uttered a low exclamation of surprise, and then ap- 
plied her eyes with increased eagerness to the opening 
through which she had been before looking. “It is he!” 
she cried out at last ; “I am as sure of it as if he was 
talking to me in this very room.” 

“ It is wdio ?” asked Agnes, hastily, in return. “ What 
is it, Maggy, that causes you so much surprise ?” 

“ I saw him ; I saw Billy Braxton,” answered Maggy, 
“ as plainly as I now see you before my eyes.” 

“That should not occasion you. so much wonder,” said 
Agnes. “I imagine that billiard-saloons, in a place like 
San Francisco, are not only the resort of those who make 
use of them for the low and selfish purpose of gambling, 
but frequently become the place of meeting of gentlemen 
who have no other object in view than to associate to- 
gether for innocent amusement and recreation. Is he in 
the room still?” continued Agnes, “or did he only step 
in on some special occasion ?” 

“He but just looked into the room,” said Maggy, “as 
if he was in search of somebody there, and then immedi- 
atel3^ went out again.” 

“ I thought that might be the case,” replied Agnes. “If 
I am not greatly mistaken, Billy Braxton is not a man 
to spend much of his time in billiard-saloons.” 

“ I almost wish,” said Maggy, “ that he would spend 
less or more, for in that case I think there would not be 

16 * 


^186 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


so much likelihood of his scaring poor bodies .like me out 
of their senses.” 

The aperture communicating between the two apart- 
ments was now closed, by suspending the looking-glass in 
its place, which Agnes did the more readily, as she was 
really fearful that Maggy, by some injudicious movement, 
might attract the attention of persons of keen hearing and 
discernment on the other side. 

This state of things continued until after night. Agnes 
and Maggy had already supped, and were sitting together 
in their silent apartment as lonely as if they were occupy- 
ing the cell of a convent. But just in proportion to their 
own noiseless intercourse with 'each other was the uproar 
and confusion on the other side. Many voices seemed to 
be employed in loud and vehement altercation, and the 
tumult of licentiousness and profanity, uttered without the 
least regard to decency, gave great offense to those who 
were compelled to listen to it. At last the noise grew 
louder, and the crowd in the room seemed to lose all sense 
of propriety. It was evident that an extraordinary excite- 
ment existed in the apartment, and Agnes was not able to 
account for it, except by supposing that it proceeded from 
the madness of intoxication. In this idea she was con- 
firmed a moment afterward by hearing two or three of the 
company staggering toward the very spot fronting the 
aperture communicating with her own lonely apartment. 
The ruffians were loud and furious in declaring their un- 
mannerly intentions. “We want to see these two pretty 
birds,” they exclaimed, “ who have been peeping from 
their cages, and who seem to be so eager for other com- 
pany. It is only fair that we should have an opportunity 
of hearing them whistle at least ; and of beholding and 
admiring their beautiful feathers.” In reply to these in- 
sane rantings, a voice was heard entreating them to desist 
from their rash purpose, and trying to reason them into a 
state of peace and quiet. But these sons of Belial seemed 
determined not to be kept in restraint. They only raved 
the more in return, asserting their own independence, and 
avowing their readiness to take the responsibility on their 
own shoulders. Other voices seemed to join in holding 
them back, but all to no purpose. At last a furious strug’gle 
was heard, as if the parties had closed with each other. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


187 


and were to the utmost of their power contending for 
victory. Maggy by this time became seriously alarmed, 
and was on the point of screaming out for assistance. But 
Agnes, although perhaps equally frightened, was able to 
preserve that calm self-possession which never forsook her 
under the most alarming emergency. “Not yet,” she 
said; “they have not yet found their way into our apart- 
ment, and even if they should do so, there is every reason 
to believe that others will accompany them who will be 
our protectors.” 

Agnes had scarcely uttered these words when a loud 
shout, accompanied by a violent attack made on the 
wooden partition that separated the two apartments, 
evinced that the intruders were intent on accomplishing 
their object, and on entering by force into the private room 
occupied by the two females. A large space, surrounding 
the aperture over which the looking-glass was suspended, 
began to be sensibly affected, as if vibrating from the vio- 
lent pressure that was made to bear against it from with- 
out. Presently a sudden crash rent the moving mass 
asunder, and another shout announced that the wild 
attack of the villains on the other side had been success- 
ful. It was seen now that a door, which once led from 
the billiard-saloon into Agnes’s apartment, but which had 
been nailed up for the purpose of preventing all communi- 
cation between the two in future, had been violently forced 
open, so as to admit the perpetrators of this shameful act 
to enter at once on the privacy of the terrified females who 
were waiting their coming. 

Agnes stood erect, in the center of the room, resting her 
right hand on the shoulder of Maggy, who, by this time, 
had acquired more firmness, and courageously taken her 
position at the side of her mistress. The latter had exer- 
cised so much calmness in the midst of the danger which 
threatened her as deliberately to place a small table in an 
eligible situation of the apartment, behind which she and 
her companion intrenched themselves like soldiers abiding 
the breach of a fortified castle. As soon as the door was 
forced in the manner we have mentioned, Agnes had an 
opportunity of observing that a struggle was still kept up 
in the billiard-saloon, but she was too much occupied in 
attending to her own personal safety to understand either 


188 


HENRY GOURTLAND ; 


its nature or tendency. She had enough to do to main- 
tain her firmness at the post she had taken, and to await 
with calmness the issue of the terrible crisis in which she 
was involved. 

She uttered not a word of terror or reproof at the begin- 
ning, but the moment the first ruffian had advanced to the 
center of the room, with a flushed countenance, but with 
dignified composure, and without the slightest tremor in 
her looks or voice, she demanded by what right he 
dared to disturb the privacy of two lone and defenseless 
females. 

“ By the same right,” said the base aggressor, who had 
become somewhat sobered, perhaps, in the course of the 
close and warm conflict through which he had just passed, 
“by the same right that I freely use my eyes on all other 
occasions. I wanted to see your pretty faces, mistress, and 
as you know this California is an out-of-the-way place, and 
a lady’s face is about as rare as a Sunday sermon, I am 
sure you will hardly begrudge us an opportunity of seeing 
a handsome countenance here when we have so little 
chance of seeing it anywhere else.” 

“ Fool ! impudent babbler, begone !” she exclaimed, 
placing her hand in her bosom, as if in the act of search- 
ing for something there, — “ begone ! or my own weak arm, 
if possible, will inflict on you an injury which all the world 
will justify, because all the world will see that I have done 
it in self-defense.” 

The man drew back as if half convinced that what he 
heard was a certain reality, and not the mere effect of his 
own excited imagination. He stared on Agnes with an in- 
credulous countenance, and seemed to be somewhat con- 
scious of the pitiful spectacle he presented to the eyes of 
all who now looked on him. The truth is, he was awed into 
humility and submission by that simple heroism which is so 
often the concomitant of female purity and virtue. Mut- 
tering something between his teeth about not having been 
in earnest, he was utterly unable to frame a suitable reply 
to the strong and fervent language made use of by the indig- 
nant female he came to insult, and falling back into tlie 
ranks of his companions, most of whom appeared to be as 
much awed by the courage and dignity of Agnes as he 
was himself, he gave indubitable evidence of a perfect will- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


189 


ingness on his part to relinquish his unenviable position at 
once to any one who might choose to assume it. 

It was, perhaps, because one of his companions was less 
sobered, rather than because he possessed more firmness 
and courage, that he was about to return to the attack 
which had been so willingly abandoned by the other, and 
wasinthe actbf adding additional insults to those which had 
already been so cruelly offered to the unprotected situation 
of the two heroic girls. But just at that moment a shout 
was raised in the adjoining apartment, the struggle which 
had been going on during a very considerable period sud- 
denly ceased, and some one was heard to rush with great 
haste and precipitation toward the stairway leading from 
the billiard-saloon down to the street in front of the hotel. 
In another moment the door which entered from the main 
passage of the building into the room occupied by Agnes 
and her companion was opened, and Molton Fairview, 
springing to their side, proclaimed himself their guardian 
and protector. The applause and clapping which fol- 
lowed were immense. The ruffian who had meditated 
a second attack on the two females instantly shrunk from 
his purpose, as if ashamed or afraid to carry it into exe- 
cution ; the crowd retired into the adjoining room ; the 
landlord entered to apologize to Agnes for what he said it 
had been out of his power to prevent, and peace again 
prevailed throughout the several apartments of the hotel. 

If Agnes was terrified and annoyed by the brutal con- 
duct of her half-besotted, half-demoniac visitors, she was no 
less surprised at the sudden appearance before her of Mol- 
ton Fairview. His countenance manifested its usual good 
nature and frankness, but there seemed a sternness about 
it which she had never observed to the same extent before, 
and an expression of indignation and resentment, which 
plainly indicated that he had been a party to the recent 
excitement in the other room. As soon as Agnes had re- 
covered a little from her surprise, she was about to address 
him, but, before she could find words to do so, he himself 
became the speaker. 

“The cowardly scoundrels who caused you so much 
fear,” said he, “ have disappeared, and I, too, who ought 
to have been far from here before this time, must hasten 
away as soon as possible. I would have come to your 


190 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


relief sooner if it had been in my power. I owe much to 
you, but I owe still more to my poor mother.’’ Having 
uttered these words, he withdrew from the sight of the 
wondering females as suddenly as he had ushered himself 
into their presence. 

Agnes was at a loss to comprehend the extent of an in- 
terference which had been as strange as it was unlooked 
for. Could it be possible that this boy, whose physical 
powers had not yet expanded to the growth of manhood — 
who appeared to be poor, impoverished, and perhaps 
neglected — whose entire dependence might be mainly or 
altogether on himself — could it be possible that he was 
singly engaged with the drunken knaves in the adjoining 
room ; and, after having extricated himself from their 
violence and treachery, had still the courage and strength 
to come forward and defend Agnes and her companion in 
person in their own apartment ? The supposition implied 
a degree of manliness and resolution, not to say of feeling' 
and gallantry, which she could not but conceive to be 
wonderful in a youth of such tender years. She remem- 
bered, indeed, what Maggy had said of seeing Billy Brax- 
ton in the billiard-saloon. But the whole transaction 
appeared to her like a dream, and she was compelled to 
satisfy herself with the hope that at some future time she 
would be favored with a solution of the mystery. 


CHAPTER XXXir. 

After the uproar had ceased, and the parties to these 
scandalous proceedings had retired, the landlord took im- 
mediate measures to have the door as effectually secured 
again as it was at the beginning. Agnes, however, was 
dissatisfied. She begged that he would furnish her with 
another apartment, where she might be exposed to less 
noise, and enjoy greater security. But he protested that 
it was out of his power to do so. He said that every 
room in his house was occupied, and that she was in the 
enjoyment of one of the very best in the whole building. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


191 


Finding it, therefore, vain to expostulate, she was com- 
pelled to submit to the inconvenience without further 
complaint or repining. 

When about to retire to rest, Maggy was not unmindful 
of the danger to which they had been exposed during the 
tumultuous interval we have just attempted to describe. 
“ Although the door has been again nailed shut,” said she 
to Agnes, “ and our room is, perhaps, as secure as it was 
at first, yet I almost fear that something may happen 
during the darkness of the night. At any rate, we have 
no certain assurance of safety ; and should ruffians again 
attempt to break into our apartment, you would hardly be 
able to scare them away a second time by pretending to 
feel for a dagger in your bosom, as there would not be 
light enough in the room to discover your movements. 
We must, therefore, try to find some other means of 
safety.” So saying, she commenced erecting a barrier 
against further intrusion, not only by piling up chairs and 
tables against the door which had just been broken open, 
but by fortifying the one leading out to the passage in the 
same manner. While Agnes admired the caution, she 
could not help smiling at the simplicity of the innocent 
girl. 

“ Your design in barring out the miserable men whose be- 
havior has already given us so much trouble,” she observed 
to Maggy, “I cannot but approve of, since the very act of 
seeking for safety will inspire us with some hope at least 
that we have accomplished our purpose. But I must con- 
fess that I have but little confidence in schemes that are 
based on such props and defenses as these. Our best 
security must exist within our own bosoms — I mean the 
security involved in the indignant rebuke which virtue is 
always capable of inflicting on vice. That, after all, I have 
reason to believe, constituted our principal defense, and 
our ultimate triumph, in the contest from which we have 
just escaped. The boy, indeed, was of service to us at the 
close of the struggle, and perhaps was of material benefit 
to us in the adjoining room. But I am seriously inclined 
to believe that it was his calm and stern defiance, joined 
with our own, that was the principal means of gaining us 
the final conquest.” 

“I must confess,” said Maggy, “that I am disposed to 


192 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


believe the same thing; but, notwithstanding, I will pile 
up these chairs and tables, if it be only for the sake of giv- 
ing a solemn alarm to the cowardly knaves, if any such 
there be, who should a second time attempt to enter our 
silent apartment.” 

“And I will cheerfully assist you in your labors,” said 
Agnes, “though not, perhaps, with precisely the same 
views.” 

So saying, they both became earnestly engaged in forti- 
fying the insecure citadel they occupied, and having per- 
formed this task they retired to rest. But we are not 
aware that anything further occurred to disturb them 
during that night. 

The next morning Agnes continued to feel the loneli- 
ness and destitution of herself and companion, although 
she thought it more prudent, on Maggy’s account, to con- 
ceal her gloomy thoughts, and to put on a show of tran- 
quillity and courage foreign to the state of her own heart. 
She had forwarded a letter addressed to her brother at 
Sacramento City, more, however, with the view of dis- 
charging what she considered a simple duty, than with the 
hope of receiving an answer to her inquiries. She had, 
moreover, caused the landlord of the hotel to institute a 
search in every direction likely to lead to information con- 
cerning his whereabouts, but without receiving intelligence 
from any quarter that was satisfactory to her anxious 
wishes. These disappointments, together with a deep 
sense of her isolation from the busy world around her, and 
of her unprotected situation, amid entire strangers, might 
well have preyed on feelings far less sensitive than those 
which entered into the constitution of poor Agnes Russell. 
No wonder she experienced a weight at her heart, that 
required the utmost good sense and fortitude to bear with 
equanimity and patience. But we have seen throughout 
the course of this narrative that she possessed a mind of 
no ordinary strength and ability, and that she exercised a 
trust in a Higher Power, on whom she relied with undoubt- 
ing confidence. 

Conscious of possessing that sure support to which we 
have just alluded, she was able in a short time not only to 
shake off her gloomy thoughts, but to inspire Maggy with 
a confidence and courage equal to that which animated her 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


193 


own bosom. Just at that time a knock was heard at the 
door, and Captain Lamberton entered the apartment. 

The sudden appearance of this gentleman a second time 
occasioned more surprise than alarm to our two females. 
Agnes at least, after having received the mysterious note 
in the manner we have stated above, inferred from the 
terms in which it was written that there was some reason 
to believe Captain Lamberton might be induced to repeat 
the visit he had made on the previous day, although she 
hardly expected that the interval between his first and 
second appearance would have been so short. Maggy, in- 
deed, with some confusion, stared alternately at the captain 
and at her mistress, as if at a loss to know how she was to 
behave on the occasion. But a significant glance from the 
eye of Agnes seemed to convince her that their visitor was 
to be received with civility, and she placed a chair for him 
accordingly, in which he immediately became seated. 

‘‘I am at a loss,” he began, addressing his discourse to 
Miss Russell, “ after what took place between us yester- 
day, to know how far I am at liberty to disclose my 
present purpose. But when I say that purpose has for its 
object your own peace and security, I trust I shall be ex- 
cused for again intruding into this private apartment, and 
that I shall be listened to with calmness, if not with eager- 
ness and satisfaction.” 

“Of course,” said Agnes, “if your intentions be such 
as you represent them to be, I am bound to listen to you 
with respect and attention.” 

“ Then suffer me to say,” continued Captain Lamberton, 
“ that I have heard with no little concern of the disturb- 
ance to which you were exposed last night ; and although 
my reception yesterday was not such as I could have 
desired, yet believing that you altogether mistook my 
motives, and feeling a deep sympathy in your present 
distresses, I have ventured to appear before you again 
to-day, to renew the offers of my friendship and assist- 
ance.” 

“Nothing ought to be more readily acknowledged on 
my part,” replied Agnes, “ than the mistakes and errors, 
if any, into which I have unwillingly fallen, and no one 
I trust will have cause to upbraid Agnes Russell with 

n 


194 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


ingratitude and neglect, whose conduct proceeds from 
honorable motives.” 

“Can Miss Russell doubt for a moment,” asked Lam- 
berton, “the sincerity of one, whose gallantry as a gentle- 
man, as well as whose duty as a Christian, ought to be 
equally pledged for her safety and happiness ?” 

“ What ought to be done,” replied Agnes, “ is unhappily 
not always carried into execution. The world is equally 
full of protestations of good, and of determinations of 
treachery, and such is the wickedness of mankind that the 
latter disposition is supposed by some greatly to pre- 
ponderate.” 

“ The world is bad enough in itself,” said Captain Lam- 
berton, “ and is by no means made better on account of one 
portion of society attempting to degrade and vilify another. 
Whatever you may think of my own character, I can only 
say that I sincerely offer you protection against a repe- 
tition of the outrages to which you were so cruelly exposed 
last night.” 

“ Then hear me, Captain Lamberton,” exclaimed the 
agitated girl. “You see before you two lone, defenseless, 
and unprotected females. AVe have traversed land and 
water — we have braved the ocean and the storm — we 
have endured pain and sickness — we have sundered for a 
season the ties that bound us to our kindred and our 
homes — we have traveled thousands of miles, and have 
been willing to take up our abode among strangers, un- 
cheered and uncountenanced by the kindness and tender- 
ness of our own sex — we have done all this in the fulfillment 
of a pious mission, and in the discharge of a sisterly duty. 
But the object of our visit to this distant country has not 
yet been accomplished, — the greatness of our task is not 
yet ended. The brother whom we have sought must be 
found, or we must be convinced that he is not within the 
reach of our exertions. And now we accept of your offer 
of protection, and look to you for shelter and refuge. But 
remember. Captain Lamberton,” she continued — and here 
she rose from her seat, fixed her earnest eyes on his, and 
raised her hand somewhat above the level of her head — 
“ remember that we regard you as our protector and not 
as our enemy, or even our cold-hearted friend. Should 
you dare to place the slightest obstacle in the way of our 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


195 


fulfilling the sacred purpose I have mentioned — should 
you attempt to frustrate our designs and to blast our 
hopes — should you mock at our fears and trifle with our 
feelings — God will raise up an avenger in our behalf, 
whose withering curse shall follow you to the end of your 
days — whose accusing wrath shall go down with you to 
the grave !” 

The energy and warmth with which this address was 
delivered had an evident effect on the feelings of Captain 
Lamberton He shrank from its searching earnestness with 
something like criminal horror, and seemed in a great 
degree to realize beforehand the punishment of his own 
meditated baseness. Some moments elapsed, after Agnes 
had done speaking, before he was able to collect his con- 
fused thoughts so as to frame a connected and rational 
answer. But he insisted again on his plighted faith, and 
promised to convey them on the same day to a place of 
greater security. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

When Captain Lamberton had retired, Agnes explained 
to Maggy her reasons for acquiescing in the proposed 
offers of comfort and security so plausibly held out by 
that gentleman. 

‘'I have no faith in him,” she said, “but neither do I 
fear him. The paper conveyed to us from the adjoining 
apartment instructs us to be guided by him in whatever 
is reasonable, and surely nothing could be more reasonable 
than an offer to effect our deliverance from* this insecure 
and unpleasant prison-house.” 

Maggy saw no reason to dissent from her mistress in 
the views thus expressed, and they forthwith proceeded 
to prepare for their departure to more quiet and comfort- 
able lodgings. They still indulged the fond hope of hearing 
shortly from Alfred Russell, and of meeting him face to 
face, in which event they knew they would be relieved 
from all their cares and all their troubles. 

Ill the afternoon Captain Lamberton brought to the 


196 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


door of the hotel an old-fashioned family vehicle, drawn 
by two horses, which seemed to afford very little promise 
of either comfort or convenience. 

After Agnes and Maggy found themselves seated, the 
carriage drove off with as much rapidity as was consistent 
with the condition of the streets through which they had 
to pass. In a few minutes they proceeded on a course 
that ran parallel with the shore. Here the horses were 
brought up suddenly in front of a steep embankment, on 
the other side of which was a long, low building, apparently 
erected for the purposes of trade and business. Captain 
Lamberton now descended from the seat he had occupied 
as driver, and informing the two females that they had 
arrived at the end of their journey, handed them out of 
the carriage. 

The first thought of Agnes, when she lighted on the 
ground, was that they were now much nearer the hotel, 
from which they had taken their departure, than Captain 
Lamberton would have been willing to own. But she 
refrained from making any observations at that time calcu- 
lated to betray her suspicions or her fears. She looked 
quietly around her, and endeavored to put on the expres- 
sions of a calm and cheerful countenance. The spot on 
which they first alighted from the carriage was one of 
dreary vacuity, where, however, she was able to make 
such observations as gave her a pretty distinct idea of the 
objects by which she was surrounded. The bay stretched 
out in unmeasured distance before her, and the hoarse 
murmuring of its restless waves could be heard plainly 
beating on the shore, down to which, from the spot where 
she stood, there was a somewhat steep descent the whole 
way. Right before her was the bank we have already 
mentioned, still more steep and precipitous than that be- 
hind her leading down to the bay, around which winded a 
track or cart- way that seemed too steep and dangerous for 
the use of the carriage they had just left, and that led up 
to the back part of the building seen across the embank- 
ment. The building itself, like almost all the houses then 
existing in San Francisco, possessed no other features of 
attraction than its absurd proportions, and the grotesque 
order in which its several parts seemed to be fitted together. 

“ Our way lies up this path,’^ said the captain, after 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


197 


Agnes and her companion had descended from the car- 
riage; and he immediately made an offer of his arm to the 
former, who, however, as promptly refused it, and took 
hold of that of her faithful Mend Maggy. 

“ There is nothing very inviting here,” said Agnes to 
Captain Lamberton, as they continued to wind their way 
round the rugged cart-way I have mentioned above ; “but 
I suppose nothing very inviting can anywhere be expected 
in this growing city. Everything is new, and everything 
appears to be rough and unfinished.” 

“ You are right. Miss Russell,” said the captain. 
“There is nothing very attractive in a country so re- 
motely situated from the civilized portions of mankind, 
and where all, nevertheless, are in the pursuit of that which 
is supposed to be the sole means of human enjoyment.” 

They now approached the end of the rough and circuit- 
ous path they had been treading, and as they drew nearer 
to the rear of the building, which was only partially seen 
from the spot where they had first alighted, Agnes was 
surprised to discover that it was protected by something 
like a regular fortification, thrown up at the expense of 
considerable labor, so as to prevent an easy irruption into 
the premises. The defense itself miglit have been intended 
merely as a substitute for a stone wall, or for some weaker 
barrier against outward aggression, which is so common 
in other parts of the world, but she could not but notice, 
however, that pains had been taken to render this protec- 
tion unusually strong and durable. It seemed to contem- 
plate security from more than ordinary violence. 

The entrance into this strange citadel was secured by a 
gate of lofty and ponderous dimensions, which now stood 
directly before them. Although of very rude construction, 
it was evidently framed with a view to uncommon strength 
and security, that might well defy every attempt of out- 
ward violence which at that time could have been made 
by the most formidable force capable of being raised in any 
part of California. It appeared to be of impenetrable thick- 
ness, and was so densely studded over with flat-headed 
spikes that it presented to the eye the resemblance of a 
solid mass of iron. It was impossible for Agnes to 
approach this formidable entrance without feeling some 
apprehensions for her own safetv as well as for that of her 

17 * 


198 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


companion A cold shudder pervaded her bosom, which 
she was almost sure was experienced to a still greater 
degree by poor Maggy, who at every step seemed to cling 
more closely to her side. But as they drew nearer to the 
postern which admitted passengers through the massy 
thickness of this mighty door-way, not a word was spoken 
by either of the parties, not even by Captain Lamberton. 
He marched forward with an apparently firm but silent 
step, the two females following closely in his rear. And 
yet it may be doubted whether his own feelings were a 
bit more steady and composed than those of his compan- 
ions. He must have felt, what the stoutest men feel, when 
engaged in the accomplishment of some criminal intention, 
and when they know that intention may be defeated by 
the interference of some sudden accident, or the unex- 
pected prying of some single eye. Nor were his nerves 
less sensibly affected when, just before arriving at the 
entrance we have described, Maggy made a sudden halt, 
drawing her mistress forcibly back by the arm, and declar- 
ing in mournful, but plain and decided language, that it 
would be as much as their lives were worth to enter be-* 
yond the dark bounds of that gloomy-looking prison wall 
which now frowned so terribly before them. 

It may easily be imagined that Agnes was almost ready 
to make the same declaration ; but having proffered the 
offer of a confidence which she was unwilling to retract, 
and conceiving that it would be improper to abandon an 
experiment before she had a fair opportunity of testing its 
results, she made a sign to Maggy to remain silent, and 
whispered in her ear that they had quite as much to dread 
perhaps by obstinately refusing to go forward, as they 
would have by quietly following the movements of their 
leader. Captain Lamberton at that very moment seemed 
to be made fully sensible of the alarm which had taken 
possession of the minds of his hesitating followers. The 
consequence was that he bounded forward with hurried 
])recipitation, inflicted a loud knock on the postern, and 
before our two female adventurers had time for further re- 
mark or reflection, stood at the opening of the little gate- 
way, with Billy Braxton at his side, ready to receive 
them. 

If Agues and her companion were again somewhat sur- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


199 


prised at the appearance of this mysterious individual, 
they seemed, nevertheless, only to take the more courage 
from his presence. Indeed, he beckoned them to proceed, 
by a private signal, so contrived as to increase their own 
confidence in his ulterior intentions, while it entirely 
escaped the vigilance of Captain Lamberton. .This meas- 
ure at once produced the effect he seemed to desire. The 
two females advanced boldly toward the low gateway 
which now stood open for their admission, penetrated 
through the narrow entrance, and in a moment afterward 
found themselves shut in by the frowning barrier toward 
which they had at first approached with so much reluc- 
tance. 

Not a word was exchanged by them with Billy Braxton. 
They were content to understand his motions, without 
seeking for any more definite knowledge of his plans and 
intentions. But their eyes were forcibly attracted toward 
two other individuals whom they passed as they crossed 
the inclosure into which they had just entered, and who 
seemed to be placed as sentinels to add still greater se- 
curity to the rampart erected in the rear of the building 
toward which they were now approaching. They had but 
little opportunity of scrutinizing these individuals very 
closely, but they saw enough of them to know that they 
were armed, and what surprised them still more was, they 
discovered them to be the very same men who had so 
rudely, only a night or two before, invaded their private 
apartment from the adjoining billiard-room. There were 
certain marks about the countenances of these ruffians so 
terrifying and prominent that the impressions they left on 
the minds of our two females could not be easily effaced. 
The moment these marks were again exhibited to their 
senses, they had before them the lively picture of each in- 
dividual actor on that shameful occasion. 

In passing through the inclosure nothing else that was 
remarkable arrested their attention. They soon reached a 
flight of steps which seemed to lead directly up to an 
apartment of the main building. The door opening into 
this apartment was carefully unlocked by Captain Lam- 
berton, and all entered it except Billy Braxton, who took 
a different path round the building as soon as they had 
reached the bottom of the stairway. 


200 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


The apartment into which our adventurers were now 
introduced seemed to be that which might belong to a 
commercial warehouse, and which had been prepared with 
the single object of rendering it secure and substantial. 
The frame-work was principally composed of rough logs, 
which were spanned and held together by immense beams 
extending from one side of the building to the other. 
Round the room were arranged shelves, which seemed to 
be uncommonly strong and massy, many of them resem- 
bling the fixtures of a mill or foundry rather than the ar- 
rangements of an ordinary store-room. On these shelves 
were deposited a great variety of mercantile articles, such 
as may be daily seen in the majority of stores established 
in our small country towns. But in other places little 
kegs and boxes were stored away with a much more care- 
ful regard to their value and security. These Agnes was 
led to suppose might contain that golden treasure which 
here in California, as everywhere else, seemed to be the 
great object of human pursuit and acquisition. 

They passed from this room into another, intended, as 
Captain Lamberton informed them, for their accommoda- 
tion so long as they should remain under his protection. 
Everything in this apartment seemed to be plain, humble, 
and uninviting. It contained but little furniture, and that 
was of the meanest and most common quality. A low 
flock-bed in one corner of the room, a large wooden chest 
in another — a small looking-glass, which distorted the 
countenance into the most provoking frightfulness — two or 
three chairs and an old pine table — constituted the entire 
inventory of goods and chattels with which this apartment 
was furnished. Agnes gazed round for a moment, and 
then looked at Maggy, whose eyes overflowed with a flood 
of tears. 

“It would be unreasonable for you, as yet,” said Cap- 
tain Lamberton to Agnes, “ to expect much refinement or 
luxury in a place so new as that of San Francisco. This 
room I had fitted up for myself, and I now cheerfully dedi- 
cate it to your own convenience. You are here at a dis- 
tance from the bustle and turmoil of the business part of 
the city. An old woman, a native Californian, will dis- 
charge for you all the menial services which you could ex- 
pect in a place like this, and I myself will call occasionally 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


201 


to enliven and cheer your solitude.” Before Agnes had 
time to reply Captain Lamberton vanished out of the door 
by which they had entered, and although he could not be 
seen by the parties he left behind, he was distinctly heard 
to lock the door before he descended the steps which led to 
their apartment. 


CHAPTER XXXiy. 

After Captain Lamberton had retired, the first thing 
Agnes did was to give vent to her anguish, like Maggy, in 
a flood of tears. She next began to commune with her 
companion on the subject of their present confinement, and 
the remarkable change which had evidently come over 
Captain Lamberton as soon as he thought he had safely 
immured his prisoners within the walls of his own strange- 
looking castle. 

“ He has deceived us, Maggy,” said she, “ as I was ap- 
prehensive he would do, but I still feel as if 1 did not fear 
him. And he has his myrmidons too, who are no doubt 
pledged to assist him in the accomplishment of all his ne- 
farious purposes. Did you mark the two ruffians whom 
we passed in the yard below, and who were the same in- 
dividuals who frightened us so much by intruding on our 
privacy from the billiard-room ? May it not be that this very 
Captain Lamberton, who was so ready to. pledge his faith 
for our protection, who advised us to flee from the ruffianly 
violence of those cruel men, and who affected to sympathize 
with us so deeply in our unprotected loneliness, was him- 
self the contriver of that disgraceful conspiracy which 
caused us so much annoyance at the hotel, and which has 
been the means of transferring us to this more alarming 
apartment? Oh, Maggy, this man’s perfidy is indeed 
greater, I am afraid, than I had expected !” 

“ I always suspected and I always feared him,” an- 
swered Maggy. “But what is to be done next? He has 
caught us in his trap. Who will be able to free us from 
so cruel a persecutor ?” 

“ Who, indeed, will be able to do so ?” exclaimed Agnes. 


202 


IIENR Y CO UR TL AND ; 


“ And yet we must not desert our own principles, or aban- 
don that patience which is often of more real value in 
times of difficulty and trial than a thousand fruitless 
schemes formed for the purpose of escape and deliverance. 
The one teaches us how to endure sorrows like men — 
the other is too apt to prompt us to flee from them like 
cowards.” 

“ But we will be neither men nor cowards,” said Maggy, 
“but will act like brave, simple-hearted, and suffering 
women. The patience of which you speak belongs more 
particularly to our sex, and for the sake of that sex you at 
least, I know, will not forget to cherish and exercise it.” 

“ Thank you, thank you, Maggy ! for your own example 
of true heroism. And now let us rather practice our pre- 
cepts than stand here complimenting each other. I am 
afraid we are fairly trapped, as you say ; but so long as 
we are at liberty to think and to reason for ourselves, even 
if it be in a space so narrow and confined as that to which 
we are at present subjected (and surely this is a privilege of 
which no one can bereave us), we may justly boast that we 
have something yet for which to be thankful and for which 
to suffer. No power on earth can deprive us of the glorious 
privilege of thinking and feeling, a privilege which maybe 
enjoyed in a prison as well as in a palace. But these are 
sentiments which, after all, a woman’s heart knows better 
howto cherish than to utter. Patience! it is the virtue 
of poets, of martyrs, and of females, and yet is so little 
known to the world that it is always the least seen when 
it is in the most powerful exercise. And now, Maggy, 
what say you to the last apparition of Billy Braxton ?” 

“ I can say but little,” answered Maggy, “ because I 
know but little; and yet I would a thousand times rather 
trust myself, methinks, to the probable interest which this 
man takes in our lot, however cautious he is in openly 
standing up for our defense, than in the hollow professions 
of friendship which come with such a bad grace from Cap- 
tain Lamberton.” 

“ It is more than likely you are right,” said Agnes, “for 
either Braxton intends to betray us or save us, and we 
have many reasons to believe he favors the last design 
rather than the first. But, hark ! some person is about 
entering the door, and we must be on our guard against 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


203 


talking too freely, where not only oiir actions but our 
words will perhaps become the subjects of anxious watch- 
fulness and remark.” 

By this time the bolt was unlocked, and a tall, uncomely 
female entered, who carefully closed and secured the 
door behind her. The two girls w^ere somewhat startled 
at first at the appearance of this strange-looking woman. 
As she entered the room she folded her arms carelessly 
across her breast, and advancing about half way from the 
door, she took her position in the middle of the apartment, 
and gazed with a kind of vacant stare on the half-alarmed 
females who stood before her. Agnes paused for a space, 
expecting every moment that the silent messenger would 
declare the object of her visit. But not a single word came 
from her lips, and she stood entirely motionless, as if awed 
by the presence of those she had come to encounter. Her 
dress consisted of a dirty, coarse blouse, which descended 
close to her feet, and which was bound in irregular folds 
to her person by a belt tightly buckled round the middle 
of her body. Her complexion was swarthy, her hair of 
the Indian hue and texture, and her eyes small, gray, and 
unsteady. There was but little expression in her counte- 
nance, and her general appearance indicated that tame and 
passive fatuity which is peculiar to all old persons of weak 
and impoverished intellects. 

After a pause of some moments, finding that the woman 
was not likely to come to any speech of her own, Agnes 
addressed her as follows : 

“ Who are you, my good woman? and what is it that 
you have come to seek in this apartment?” 

“Live with Captain Lamberton,” she replied. “Don’t 
know much Inglis. Come to do what you tell me.” 

“ Oh, then,” said Agnes, “you are the person he has 
appointed to wait on us in this gloomy place. But we do 
not need your services at present. We would rather be 
left alone for awhile.” 

The woman now advanced nearer to the spot where 
Agnes was standing, and either not comprehending what 
had been told her, or determined to have her own way in 
making herself useful even when she knew her services 
were not required, she very innocently handed each of the 
girls a chair, and motioned them both to be seated. The 


204 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


performance of this task seemed to afford her great pleasure, 
and Agnes guessing that it would be a real gratification to 
the woman to become engaged in the discharge of some 
little service for them, handed her an empty pitcher which 
stood on the table, and told her to go and bring that full 
of water. The poor woman started on her errand with a 
smiling countenance, and was observed to take the same 
precaution again in securing the door which led out of the 
apartment. When she was supposed to be out of hearing, 
Agnes observed to Maggy, — 

“ That woman would seem to be an idiot, or very little 
better, and yet it may be doubted whether Captain Lam- 
berton would have committed our persons to the custody 
of so simple a creature unless she possessed some qualities 
which he thought would answer the purposes he has in 
view. She certainly knows how to unlock and lock the 
bolts of a door, and to take care of the key afterward. 
But we shall, doubtless, know more about her in the course 
of time.’’ 

The old woman returned to the apartment again as soon 
as these words had been uttered, and having deposited the 
pitcher of water on the table, and being assured a second 
time by Agnes that they stood in no further need of her 
services, she retired in seeming good humor, and left the 
tw'o girls to indulge in their own thoughts, and struggle 
with their own sorrows. Here we will leave them too, 
held under duress by Captain Lamberton, while we pro- 
ceed to depict the events of another part of our story. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


206 


CHAPTER XXXY. 

The atmosphere was hot, dry, and cloudless, and the 
ground was cracked and parched from one of those long- 
continued droughts which are common to the regions of 
California. It was the hour of noon, and not a bird or an 
insect was heard to disturb the solemn stillness which 
everywhere reigned around. No kind breeze wafted its 
refreshing coolness over the landscape, and no murmuring 
stream sent its liquid melody from the pebbly bottom over 
which it passed. From the sand and the rocks the heat 
was reflected in steamy currents which seemed to be as pal- 
pable to the eye as to the touch. The trees were motion- 
less — the hills were voiceless — and the arid waste, as far 
as the sight could stretch, appeared to repose in beds of 
hot and feverish stupor. From the mountain ravines alone 
trickled down, here and there, a narrow, almost a capillary 
flow of water, with a sound as noiseless as the undisturbed 
stillness of the atmosphere itself. At the bottom of one of 
these ravines, on a solitary spot in the midst of the Moke- 
lumne mines, a workman lay stretched on his back, dis- 
couraged, exhausted, and desponding. But still he applied 
his feeble strength to the exercise of the instrument by which 
he hoped to extract the precious ore from the earth, and to 
enrich himself with the spoils that once presented them- 
selves in such brilliancy and with such certainty to his 
imagination. Alas ! his long-continued efforts seemed to 
be only in vain ! And now his strength was about to fail 
him entirely — his hopes gave way to the bitterest anguish, 
and dropping his exhausted arm at his side, he lay for a 
moment sad and motionless; Then rising to his feet, and 
hurling the instrument he had been so faithfully but so 
fruitlessly using from him, he disturbed the monotonous 
stillness by pronouncing audibly to himself the following 
mournful soliloquy : 

“ I will not, I cannot, endure this fruitless search any 
longer ! God knows, I have worked hard for the last two 

18 


206 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


weeks. I have lived like a hermit — T have toiled like a 
slave — and what has been the reward of my privations 
and labor? Have I realized the golden dreams I have 
followed so eagerly — so foolishly ? Has wealth flowed 
into my pockets, as I was told it would, only for the 
trouble of going for it, and lifting it from the ground ? 
Where now is the fulfillment of those visionary promises 
published in newspapers, advertised in the open streets, 
proclaimed at the quiet fireside and in the busy hotel, ex- 
ultingly dwelt on in public and in private, and shouted 
in the ears of credulous expectants even in the church 
and the Sunday-school ? Alas ! the airy castles have van- 
ished into nothing ! The fairy structure which seemed so 
bright and beautiful has sunk again into earth. The 
golden promises which all seemed to proclaim, and none 
to doubt, are proved to be false and deceitful — and here, 
on this hard rock, in this barren sand, as everywhere else, 
God has written in a language that is eternal and inefface- 
able that man must ‘ earn his bread by the sweat of his 
brow.’ Fool that I was to suppose that wealth could be 
honestly acquired in any other way ! 

“ And why could I not be contented in the humble and 
happy abode where God had so graciously cast my lot ? 
I must needs forsake my father’s house — despise the re- 
spectable calling in which I had been born and educated 
— and seek for more showy and fashionable employment 
in the great world. What have I gained by the exchange? 
Am I more honored, more caressed, or more happy ? Have 
I succeeded in making myself more useful, or have I be- 
come more healthy or more wise? Let this toil-worn 
frame — these soiled and tattered garments — this cheerless 
solitude — yonder tents erected for temporary shelter — 
yonder companions, as desperate and unhappy as myself, 
speak and testify. No ! no! I have madly thrown away 
the blessings I once enjoyed, and betrayed the trust which 
was committed to me by an earthly as well as a heavenly 
parent !” 

The poor young man who uttered this melancholy lan- 
guage threw himself on the ground, buried his face in his 
hands, and seemed to be lost in the dread extremity of 
grief and despondency. 

Reader, are you disposed to regard the above picture as 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


20t 


a creation got up for the sole purpose of adorning the tale 
we liave been rehearsing ? If so, depend on it you are 
about to fall into a most culpable error. The scene we 
have attempted to draw has, in a thousand instances, had 
its counterpart in real life, only with a coloring more truly 
mournful, more tenderly vivid, and more highly affecting. 
Ours is a picture where still lingers, if not in the fore- 
ground, yet at no great distance from the main figure, the 
form of Hope, inviting and beckoning the disconsolate 
mourner to her cheering embraces. But how many scenes 
have occurred in real life where there has been no light, 
no hope, nothing but the somber hues of a dark, dismal, 
and fatal despair ? The poor, agonized mourner, shut out 
from the world — remote from human aid and human sym- 
pathy — friendless and powerless — with no eye but that of 
Heaven to pity, and no arm but that of Heaven to save — 
sinks forsaken on the cold lap of earth, and can only 
look for consolation to the bosom of his father and his 
God. 

The young man, whose feelings and language we 
attempted to describe above, had not remained long in 
tlie position in which we left him before he was accosted 
by a person who appeared to be still younger than him- 
self. 

“I say, my good friend!’’ exclaimed the youth, who 
emerged from behind the point of a rock in front of which 
our mourner was sitting, “ have you struck the last blow 
for gold and independence ? Why are you squatting so 
disconsolate on the ground, as if the gulches of our Eldo- 
rado here were no better than our own granite hills at 
home ? Cheer up, man ? What has come over you 

“No luck I no luck, young master!” answered his 
companion, rising from the ground, and putting on an air 
of greater cheerfulness than really belonged to him. “ I 
feel as if I had been in search of the philosopher’s stone, 
and only deserved to be laughed at for my pains.” 

“Yes; I understand you,” replied the other. “About 
to abandon the placers of California for a life of more ease 
and respectability. Well, I am sure that I cannot blame 
you, as I am sometimes strongly tempted to pursue the 
same course myself. But I have a mother, as you know, 
and that consideration urges me to toil on almost against 
hope.” 


208 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


“ For your mother’s sake, then,” replied his companion, 
‘Met me believe that you may yet be successful. As to 
myself, I have both father and mother, each of them, I am 
happy to say, as kind and alfectionate as your own earthly 
parent. But I am afraid I made but a poor return for 
their warm and anxious love. They wished to see me 
happy, and pointed out the way in which I believe it 
would have been easy for me to become so. My own 
headstrong pride, however, was too blind to receive in- 
struction. I thought I was wiser than they and forsak- 
ing their counsel, and the promise of certain prosperity, 
for the privilege of seeking my fortune in the world, I 
have arrived thus early at the end of my hopes, and feel 
very much at present as if I were providentially brought 
to see in clear light the true character of my own folly and 
ingratitude.” 

“ All for the best !” exclaimed the more youthful adven- 
turer; “no doubt designed in the end to make you a very 
good boy. But do you know that before I left San Fran- 
cisco I received a commission from Captain Lamberton to 
watch you closely, and report to him from time to time the 
nature and direction of your movements. What a fool I 
was! I had almost said what a traitor I was to the feel- 
ings of brotherhood and humanity! But then a moment’s 
reflection made me see my fault and despise myself. And 
when your friend Braxton gave me hints of that man’s 
villainy, my conduct became still more odious and despi- 
cable in my own eyes. Oh, my friend ! forgive me, for 
in accepting the hateful trust committed to me, I was cer- 
tainly unconscious, as at first impressed, of the meanness 
of my behavior toward you.” 

“ ]}ut how,” answered the other, “did you discharge 
yourself of the task you had undertaken to perform ? 
How did you get rid of engagements into which you 
had solemnly entered, and for which I suppose you were 
to be liberally paid ?” 

“ Oh, I tore myself from them at once,” cried the indig- 
nant youth. “ I informed Captain Lamberton by the first 
opportunity that I believed he had deceived me, and that 
we might consider ourselves mutually absolved from all 
obligations to each other.” 

It is unnecessary that we should remind our readers 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


209 


that the two individuals between whom this dialogue was 
carried on were our familiar acquaintances, Percy Court- 
land and Molton Fairview. But at this point of their 
communication with each other they were interrupted by 
a third individual, who, gliding forward from some hidden 
recess in the mountain-passes before them, placed himself 
directly in front of our two adventurers, and commenced 
speaking to them in the following language : 

“ Glorious success ! I do assure you, gents — no less 
than fifty dollars’ worth of the real stuff in less than three 
hours. Why, I do vow and declare that this is the finest 
country in the world. I came here penniless ; and they 
told me if I would make a living I must work the very 
shirt off my back, — they told me, the unmannerly knaves, 
that I must even work on Sundays and holidays, or I 
would starve. But I didn’t believe them, and I took it 
all coolly to myself. On Sundays I rested like a good 
Christian, and sometimes employed myself in reading the 
Bible. On the Fourth of July, and such like days, 1 went 
in for the honor of my country, and in this way, you see, 
I made out reverently to observe every necessary law, 
both human and divine. Why, sirs, I have grown rich 
by it. Don’t you believe me ? Do you say you must 
have the evidence of it in specie, — that you must not only 
hear me speak of it, but that you must handle it and 
Aveigh it with your own fingers ? Do you cry, ‘down with 
the dust !’ like a man who is never satisfied till he has 
his hand in his neighbor’s pocket? Then here it is, — as 
genuine as if it had been bought for a price, and labeled 
at the mint.” 

So saying, this eccentric individual exhibited the result 
of his morning’s operations by pouring into a handkerchief, 
spread on the ground, a considerable quantity of the 
precious metal which all were so eagerly in search of, but 
which was acquired with such unequal success. Having 
made this tempting display of his wealth to his com- 
panions, he proceeded to say that he had not been at the 
pains of collecting it for nothing. 

“ How is that ?” answered Percy. “As you are an old 
bachelor, Darsie, and have no persons to provide for but 
yourself, one would suppose that your good luck could 

18 =^ 


210 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


hardly be made use of for bringing about a corresponding 
good anywhere else, unless you saw fit to use it for the 
mere purpose of producing something like good living.” 

“Precisely so,” replied Darsie Hopkins. “You have 
just been as lucky in hitting the nail on the head as I 
have been in gathering these shining particles of gold. 
And now, my boys, let me tell you that I fixed on this 
very day to furnish a repast for our palates that would do 
honor to the table of a prince. I love you both, and knew 
that I would meet you here, where we might feast to- 
gether, without grudge or hinderance, under the great 
canopy of the skies, and amid the shining veins of gold 
which no doubt circulate freely in all directions around 
us, if we only possessed the happy faculty of finding out 
precisely where they are.” 

Then unlocking a very capacious valise, which he al- 
ways carried with him as the depository of all the earthly 
property he owned in the world, he proceeded with his 
cheerful exordium as follows : 

“ Here, you see, are sandwiches and sardines. By-the- 
way, we must not forget to drink a bumper to the Earl of 
Sandwich ; for he it was who was the first inventor and 
proprietor of this capital luxury. I got them a few days 
ago, when in San Francisco, at about a dollar apiece, — 
cheap enough, when you consider they are of Chinese pro- 
curement. And here is ham, and tongue, and lobster- 
sauce, all furnished from the same great house, at prices 
equally reasonable. Why, sirs, we shall feast like Roman 
emperors, on dishes which, if not gems themselves, at least 
cost as much as it would take to buy a brace of jewels for 
the birth-night dress of the daughter of a New York mil- 
lionaire. And this bottle of champagne, so bright, so spark- 
ling, so volatile, and so cheap, too ! Only ten dollars, 
with a little instrument to boot to draw out the cork. I 
would have bought another bottle had I known that my 
luck would have been in the ascendant this morning. But 

I remember the prudent lessons taught to me in my youth 

that my expenses ought never to exceed my income. So 
I was even content with this one bottle, and sacrificed de- 
sire to economy.” 

Poor Darsie Hopkins rattled away at this rate for half 
an hour, and had much more to say of the same kind. He 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


211 


was one of those careless adventurers, found in the gold 
diggings of California, who had received a tolerable educa- 
tion, and was of a respectable family. But parental neglect, 
the prospect of inheriting a competent fortune, and, what 
is a necessary consequence of a condition so little to be 
envied, indolence, rendered him impotent in regard to a 
useful and active course of life, and at the age of twenty- 
three or twenty-four he found himself little better than a 
mere blank in society. And yet Darsie Hopkins possessed 
some most excellent qualities, which, under a wiser and 
less sluggish discipline, might have advanced him to a 
post of high honor and respectability among his fellow-men. 
As it was, when his increasing years made him better 
acquainted with the world, and he was roused by his own 
discernment to a sense of the tame and spiritless life he 
had been leading, he felt truly ashamed of his own weak- 
ness and insignificancy. But what was to be done ? He 
had wasted the most important years of his youth in idle- 
ness, and without a profession or calling, and with habits 
little calculated to repair the loss he had sustained by this 
early neglect, like thousands of others whose lives have run 
to waste in a similar manner, he was willing to seize hold 
of the first employment that in any way promised to fill 
up the dreary void existing in his unfurnished and discon- 
tented mind. The consequence was that he fell in with 
the great current that set so strongly toward the gold 
regions of California, and with no definite object in view, 
thoughtless, improvident, and unguarded, he became en- 
gaged in digging from the earth what it would have been 
better for him to have gained by a more easy and genteel 
occupation of his head and his hands in some other and 
higher sphere of usefulness. 

The hospitality of Darsie Hopkins, so liberally tendered 
to his companions, was as freely accepted by them as it 
was offered. They sat down to a costly and luxurious if 
not a plentiful feast. In the flow of youthful hilarity, with 
no restraint but such as was dictated by their own innate 
sense of propriety, with no interference of fashionable rule 
or formality, young, ardent, and elastic in their hopes and 
feelings, they forgot their past sorrows and discourage- 
ments in the fruition of present enjoyment. Percy Court- 
land derived new hope from the open, honest sincerity of 


212 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


his two companions, and from the ardor with which their 
owm hearts seemed to be inspired. 

But before tliey had completed their generous repast 
Darsie Hopkins communicated to him a piece of news 
which macle a direct appeal to his better feelings and 
expectations. 

“ It is strange,” said Darsie, talking to his friend Percy, 
“that all the luck is on my side. But now that I think of 
it, perhaps I have not so much to boast of after all. Do 
you know, Percy, that the alcalde, or committee, or what- 
ever may be the name of that honorable association which 
regulates the golden issues of this great country, have ap- 
pointed you the special messenger to take charge of the 
next deposit that is to be conveyed to the fortified vaults 
of our commercial metropolis? Now you see that is an 
appointment to a post of honor, and one that not only 
trumpets forth the sterling value of your integrity, but 
puts money into your purse besides. What a fool 1 was 
not to have thought about this sooner.” 

“ If what you say be true,” answered Percy, “ I might 
well be content, and proud too, to exchange the barren 
prospects of an unlucky miner in this neighborhood for an 
engagement like that of which you speak, of so much more 
profit and importance. But how may 1 become assured 
that your announcement is really true?” 

“How!” exclaimed Darsie. “Can you for a moment 
doubt my word and honor, my good fellow ? Why, sir, 
I was actually commissioned yesterday to bid you repair, 
with all possible dispatch, to Sacramento City; and this 
good news, you may depend on it, I would have imparted 
to you sooner, only that 1 was afraid you would have left 
us in the midst of our feast, and that the loss of your com- 
pany would have been to us the loss of a day’s happiness, 
which I thought we had just as good a right to secure to 
ourselves as you had to enjoy your new honors and 
emoluments.” 

Percy was so well acquainted with his companion’s pe- 
culiar feelings and disposition that, although he was 
tempted to smile at this simple avowal of his attachment 
to his pleasures, yet he was well convinced that he might 
place the utmost confidence in the truth of his statements. 
Acting in conformity with this conviction, it was not long 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


213 


before he withdrew to the tent at a distance, which he 
and Molton Fairview had occupied together for some 
days past, and having collected his little effects into his 
carpet-bag, and taken leave of his comrades, he pro- 
ceeded at once to Sacramento City. 

Before attempting to narrate the events which befell 
him there, and the adventures which, as a consequence, 
followed afterward, it is proper that we should turn our 
attention for a short time to what was going on at Court- 
land Hall. 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 

“Well, Harry I” exclaimed Virginia Truehope, on one 
of those beautiful days in the spring that had succeeded the 
departure of Agnes Russell on her mission to California, 
“ I think I am fully entitled to the palm which your 
father says ought always to be awarded to merit whenever 
it can be ascertained that one person excels another, in 
consequence of bestowing on a particular subject superior 
industry, attention, and perseverance. My class at the 
agricultural rooms has shown a proficiency and aptitude 
for learning which I think you will agree has left yours very 
far in the background.” 

“Tut! tut! my dear coz,” answered Harry, “you are 
certainly arrogating to yourself too much. Now let me 
hear what your class has been learning during the past 
winter.” 

“ Why, just this much, Master Harry,” rejoined his com- 
panion : “ every member of it has been taught how to 
make pickles, jellies, and conserves — how to arrange and 
manage a dairy — how to excel in the art of cookery — how 
to lay a table either for the family when alone, or for com- 
pany — how to give proper attention to a wardrobe — and 
how to become interesting and pleasing in dress, in man- 
ners, and even in conversation. Now, all this, you know, 
belongs to a well-bred lady, and especially to a lady who 
expects to have the management of a family in the coun- 
try.” 


214 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


“Yes !” said Harry ; “there are two rules, so far as re- 
gards domestic economy, which all ladies ought to observe, 
within the one or the other of which I believe is comprised 
their whole duty. The first is to learn how to make or 
manufacture an article that is wanted, and the second is 
to learn how to use it after it has been thus manufactured. 
This last rule is really the most important of the two, 
since it can be of no moment at all to be furnished with 
the most plentiful and abundant means, means which may 
even prove inconvenient and burdensome, if we are igno- 
rant of the uses to which they are to be applied.” 

“ Well ?” replied Virginia 

“ Well ?” rejoined Harry ; “ have your pupils then 
learned how to make an article, and how to use it properly 
afterward ?” 

“ Why,” said Virginia, “ I must confess that this last 
consideration did not strike me as so very important. But 
I remember now that your mother, who always took great 
delight in assisting me, never failed to give it the weight 
which I suppose it deserves.” 

“Exactly so,” observed Harry. “And you would now 
take credit to yourself not for what your own wit was able 
to discover and contrive, but for what was so kindly 
pointed out to you by my mother. Now in truth and in 
fact. Miss Virginia, I am a little doubtful whether this is 
altogether fair.” 

“Pooh, Harry!” exclaimed Virginia, “you are really 
critical, nay, I had almost said cynical. But let me hear, 
my kind and gentle instructor, how you have succeeded 
with your pupils. What have you been able to teach 
them 

“I am afraid, indeed,” said Harry, “that I have not 
been able to teach them much, at least that my efforts 
have not prevailed agreeably to my own wishes. But I 
have attempted to instruct them how to do a thing, and 
for ichat purpose to do it. I have endeavored to convince 
them of the great importance of method, of forethought, 
and of resolution to overcome opposing difficulties. I have 
reasoned to them from my own experience, and taught 
them that if it is not always in our power to command 
success, we should at least try to deserve it.” 

“ Just like you, Harry,” rejoined his companion; “plain, 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


215 


straightforward, and practical, but withal a little too phi- 
losophical. Well, well, perhaps we poor girls have more 
conceit than philosophy, and so you see there are faults 
on both sides. And having come to this conclusion, let 
us be at quits with each other. I will agree to call you a 
good boy, provided you are willing to return me the same 
compliment, or that you will say at least I have done very 
well for a young lady.” 

Before Harry had time to reply to this pacific overture, 
Henry Courtland, followed by his neighbor, Mr. Rus- 
sell, and attended by Mrs. Truehope, entered the small 
library room to which we have already had occasion to 
refer, and where Harry and Virginia were assembled on 
the occasion in question. 

“ This everlasting silence,” said Mr. Russell to his friend, 
‘‘ is agonizing to one whose fond hope is eagerly striving 
after something in the distance which is either too far 
away to be scrutinized, or which has disappeared and per- 
ished entirely. It is now more than eight months since 
my daughter sailed from the City of New York, and no 
intelligence has yet been received either from herself, or 
from those who might know something about her.” 

“ And yet your child may be as safe and as comfortable 
too,” answered Mr. Courtland, “ as we are within the 
room of this little library. You do yourself great injus- 
tice, Mr. Russell, in taking so seriously to heart the silence 
of your daughter. You are really beginning to look ill, 
and, unless you learn howto exercise a more cheerful trust 
in the Divine Providence, the consequences may be fatal 
to your own peace and happiness.” 

“Alas! my friend,” rejoined the disconsolate father, 
“ I am afraid that even you are unable to sympathize 
with the feelings of a saddened and almost broken heart. 
When our own bosoms are not weighed down by the 
sorrows and misfortunes of life, we scarcely believe that 
sorrows and misfortunes have an existence anywhere else. 
Who but the sufferer himself can tell what it is to have 
one earthly prop after another knocked from under him, 
until the last hold appears to be sinking, and the only re- 
maining consolation is about to be swept away forever ? 
Will not the heart then feel its own bitterness ? Will it 
not shrink from the infliction of a sorrow so oft repeated — 


216 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


from the spectral form of grief even when it is not real — 
from the hand that chastises even when it is that of a 
father ? And who has had greater cause for these nervous 
fears and anxieties than myself? It was not a single blast, 
or a single bolt, that left its scathing marks on my defense- 
less head as it passed over me in fearful alarm and terror — 
it was not a sudden stroke, a stroke that laid me on the 
earth, and then sufllered me to rise again in the full enjoy- 
ment of renovated strength and vigor — but the storm 
howled and howled in successive shocks of never-ending 
terror. The long reverberation struck my startled soul 
with a sense of danger that is still haunting me. And now 
I cannot but feel concerned for my poor, banished daughter. 
Was she not the only treasure that was still left me — a 
treasure which, if lost, can never be replaced by any ade- 
quate substitute that this world has to bestow? Was she 
not kind, affectionate, humble, and obedient? Was not 
her life entwined with my own — her young, noble, and 
generous nature pledged for my support and consolation 
under the infirmities of age, and in the hour of sickness 
and death ? And now where is she ? Oh, Agnes I oh, my 
child ! my child !” 

We may imagine that Henry Courtland was seriously 
alarmed for the peace and happiness of his friend. Such 
intense, deep-seated, and overwhelming sorrow ! Such a 
formidable approach to utter hopelessness and despair I 
How was he to overcome it ? What could be said to 
rouse him from the terrible desperation into which he 
seemed about to fall ? Mr. Courtland could only say to 
him, “You must be calm, my friend! It is wrong — it is 
decidedly sinful — for you to imagine, that you, above all 
men, have been afflicted by the chastising rod which every- 
where falls in mercy on the children of men. Let me ex- 
hort you to become more manly, or, what is still better, to 
become more humble, submissive, and patient. If you 
cannot become cheerful, you ought to resolve at least not 
to submit to despair.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Russell, “you tell me not to 
grieve, and I feel how much my condition would be bene- 
fited — how decidedly I would become a wiser and a better 
man — if I could but follow your advice. But my weak- 
ness — my sinfulness, if you please — still leads me to be- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


21t 


lieve that my own misfortunes have been meted out with 
an unsparing hand, and that my own heart is burdened 
with a weight that has fallen on me alone.” 

During the brief period that was consumed by the 
speakers in uttering the language we have narrated above, 
Mrs. Truehope, who at first had retired to a corner of the 
little room in which this dialogue took place, gradually 
emerged from her hiding-place, until she stood directly in 
front of her old friend Thomas Russell. That gentleman, 
as if sensible of her scheme to attract his attention, raised 
his eyes from the floor, and fixing them fully on the person 
who stood before him, seemed prepared to listen to any 
words that might flow from her lips. In a moment after- 
ward she addressed him as follows: 

‘‘ We have long known each other, Mr. Russell, and I 
trust not without having contributed somewhat to each 
other’s happiness. Perhaps each of us knows the other 
better than we know ourselves. For my own part, I am 
but a weak woman, and yet I feel as if I had a message to 
deliver even to you, which may not be without its effect 
on your heart and understanding. You speak as if you 
lived alone in this dark world of sorrow, and as if its 
storms and tempests beat only on your own exposed and 
devoted head. Even at the very moment when one stood 
here at your side as afflicted and sorrowful as yourself, 
you were ready to regard your individual sufferings as 
transcending the measure of all other sufferings, and as 
identified exclusively with your own person and your own 
destiny. But in this permit me to say you labor under a 
most delusive error. Am I not here to tell you so, and to 
convince you of the truth of what I assert ? How is it 
possible, I say, that your own sufferings should be exclu- 
sive and peculiar, when in this very room, and at this very 
time, you behold before you a person with whom you have 
been long acquainted, and whose trials in life have so re- 
markably resembled your own? Have I not, like you, 
suffered the loss of property, the loss of him who was my 
best earthly friend and protector, the loss of my dear chil- 
dren, the loss of my best hopes and consolations? And 
am I not a woman, a weak and suffering woman, destitute, 
or supposed to be destitute, of those sterner feelings of 
courage, fortitude, and endurance which are imagined to 

19 


218 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


belong almost exclusively to the other sex ? And yet here 
I am, standing unsubdued even in the midst of my weak- 
ness — struggling forward in the midst of my sorrows — 
bearing up against the weight that is seeking to overwhelm 
and crush me. And all this suffering you permitted to 
pass before you without having the least desire, or the 
least ability, to take from your own sorrows the smallest 
feeling of sympathy and bestow it on those of your friend! 
Did I not say you were selfish ? and did I not say that I 
would convince you of it ? God forbid that 1 should 
indulge too freely in proclaiming my own afflictions! But 
it is for your sake, Thomas Russell — it is because I wish 
to see you triumph over a sorrow and selfishness that does 
not become you as a man and a Christian, that I have thus 
dared to appeal to the sadness of my own experience.” 

Mr. Russell was deeply affected by this pathetic address 
made to him by his friend. He cared little for the opin- 
ions or the applause of the world, yet he was not deficient 
in that almost universal feeling Avhich teaches us to pride 
ourselves on the dignity of our manhood, and which raises 
our concern and indignation whenever that is assailed. It 
was this feeling, enlightened we have no doubt by a sense 
of resignation and duty which he had so dearly learned in 
the hard school of adversity, that led him to respond in the 
following terms : 

“Yes, I am, as you say, a selfish man, but I trust I am 
not blindly perverse and obstinate. It is very certain that 
all grief is selfish, and it is not wonderful therefore that I 
should forget the afflictions of others in contemplating those 
which annoy and distress my own heart. But I hope to 
be able to profit by the lesson which you have so kindly 
attempted to teach me. And oh, may we both learn how 
to meet, even with gratitude and cheerfulness, the sorrows 
of a world which you rightly intimate are purposely de- 
signed to fit us for the joys of another and a better world 
hereafter, and may we believe at the same time that these 
sorrows will always be proportioned to our strength to 
bear them !” 

At the very moment Mr. Russell had commenced mak- 
ing this penitential declaration, and had so justly and 
beautifully referred afterward to an humble trust in the 
Divine Providence, Rowland was standing at the door with 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


219 


a letter in his hand, which he now delivered to Mr. Rus- 
sell, saying that he had a few minutes before got it out of 
the post-office. 

The old gentleman received it from Rowland with a 
trembling look, examined the post-mark, and was much 
agitated when he found it was a letter from California. 
While engaged in its perusal, it was evident, from his 
countenance, that he was affected with both joy and dis- 
appointment. But he soon folded the letter up, and then 
remarked, with much calmness and self-possession, “ It is 
a letter from Alfred. My son is still living, but he says 
nothing about his sister. It bears date at Sacramento 
City, and at a time when it might be supposed that Agnes 
and he would have met in some part of California. He 
mentions that he had been sick, which prevented him 
from writing, but that he was again doing well.” 

‘'Even thus,” observed Mr. Courtland, “are your own 
words verified at the very instant they are uttered. Is 
there not here a remarkable instance of a kind Providence 
adjusting the circumstances of your life to the strength 
and ability with which 3^011 are able to bear them ? He 
never suffers the human heart to become entirely desolate 
and forsaken. When He withdraws one blessing He in- 
variably bestows another. While He has for a little 
season, and no doubt for a wise purpose, deprived you of 
your daughter. He has at the same time, and in an unac- 
countable manner, restored to you your son.” 

“I would be humble and grateful,” answered Mr. Rus- 
sell, meekly. 

“And so would I,” added Mrs. Truehope, “and yet it 
would now seem to be my turn to lament. For while you 
are thus confessedly favored by a kind and good Provi- 
dence — thus enabled to bear your sorrows with resignation 
and composure — from whence may I look for consolation 
to my own troubled heart ? The ties of affection which 
were sundered many, many years ago, still remain broken 
as when that heart was left in its first desolation. My 
children and kindred have long since been taken from me 
— the stately tree has been despoiled of its branches — one, 
two, and three — and not a single germ has taken their 
place in the parent stock. And I am a woman. But I 
will not complain. I will not belie the strength which a 


220 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


moment ago I was disposed to call my own, and which 
I sought to array against your more fretful but more de- 
termined heroism.” 

The language and behavior of Mrs. Truehope on the 
present occasion, although not in direct contradiction with 
each other, gave unmistakable evidence of the weakness 
of the human heart. So long as she considered Thomas 
Russell to be as miserable as herself — so long as she be- 
lieved that adversity held equal and divided empire in 
their two bosoms — she seemed to be able to bear her mis- 
fortunes with the utmost calmness and equanimity, and 
upbraided him with his own weakness. But the moment 
she imagined her own sorrows to be greatest — the moment 
she fancied that he was in reality more kindly favored by 
Heaven than she was herself — she experienced that an- 
guish of soul which appeared to delight in its own misery 
and desolation. It is strange indeed that we should take 
pleasure in knowing that others are as unhappy as our- 
selves. May God deliver us from a feeling so selfish and 
so cruel ! 

“ I am no great admirer,” said Henry Courtland, after 
these gloomy clouds had passed away, “of the tender 
complaints and lamentations of melancholy. I would 
rather see a clear sky and an unruffled atmosphere. Let 
us walk out in the open air. This glorious day has a 
magic and a charm about it which I think may well put 
to flight a whole host of the numerous ills which flesh is 
heir to. The majestic sun shining so brightly in the 
heavens — the green foliage which so densely shades the 
hills and forests — the beautiful birds singing in the 
branches of the trees — the humming insects — the pure 
flowing water — the cool fountain and the healthy breeze 
— next to an humble trust in the care of Omnipotence — 
are the very best preventives, if not the most certain cure, 
for that gloom and melancholy about which we have heard 
so much to-day. Let us go out, and leave our cares and 
troubles behind us !” 

The whole company now burst forth from the small 
apartment in which they had lingered so long. It was 
the month of June, that gorgeous season of the year when 
Nature is dressed in her most splendid livery. The fields 
were studded over with green corn — the wheat and the 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 221 

rye had just shot up to a height which the rural connois- 
seur loves to admire — the landscape was rich with a ver- 
dure as deep and as bright as the emerald hues that first 
enlivened the garden of Paradise — the grass in the mead- 
ows was standing in rank luxuriance, as if anxiously wait- 
ing for the mower’s scythe to reduce it to neatness and 
moderation — the very air breathed an odor which to a 
poetical imagination associated the charms of Elysium to 
those of our own sinful earth. So animated and cheerful 
was every object by which the sight was arrested that the 
heart swelled and glowed with a pleasure that was full and 
overflowing. Harry attempted to stifle Virginia with roses. 
'Virginia in her turn filled Harry’s hat with clover-heads, 
and compelled him to carry them home for the purpose of 
feeding her rabbits. Rowland climbed a tree fifty feet high 
after a squirrel, and Mr. Courtland himself was fain to show 
his youthful agility by leaping over a ditch at its widest 
part, where, on ordinary occasions, he never failed to make 
use of a foot-bridge. Even Mrs. Truehope and Mr. Rus- 
sell seemed at last to catch the pleasing contagion, and 
to forget their griefs in the joyousness and animation of 
summer, 

“ I remember,” said the former, ‘‘ when this beautiful 
country was the admiration and delight of my poor Clara. 
She was then at home — fearless of to-morrow — proud in 
her opening womanhood — unconcerned about the past, and 
ardent in the anticipation of the future. She lived much 
amid the enjoyments of an ideal world, and yet she never 
forgot the plain, simple, every-day duties, which she owed 
to her friends and companions. She knew how to admire 
the liquid light that illumes the brow of yonder hill — to 
soar with the lark far beyond the limits of those visible 
objects — to lose herself in spheres of brightness that were 
dazzling and beautiful. But like the same bird that wings 
its flight upward toward heaven, she would return again 
to earth, and on some lowly bush or humble tree pour 
forth the joys that filled her pure and innocent heart. And 
then while she rejoiced in the feelings of her own happi- 
ness, she delighted in nothing so much as to make others 
happy like herself. My poor, dear Clara ! Life, perhaps, 
has shice been only bitter to both of us, and yet on such a day 
as this, I am almost able to renew the freshness of early 

19 * 


222 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


enjoyment, which I once fondly thought would last for- 
ever.” 

“Well, mother I” cried Virginia, after the former had 
closed her tender rhapsody, “I think, instead of falling 
into the sear and yellow leaf, you are really going back to 
the days of youthful fancy and extravagance. Why, truly, 
what you just now uttered is the very romance of melan- 
choly. I did not suppose that, in your old days, you were 
capable of so much feeling and imagination.” 

“ I cannot exactly say how it may be with others,” an- 
swered her mother, “ but I should be sorry to think that I 
possess less feeling now than I did twenty years ago. Age 
may indeed impair the powers of the intellect, but when 
the troubles of the heart have long been felt, its quickness 
of perception will not unfrequently triumph over the dull- 
ness of the understanding.” 

“And yet our great object should be,” said Mr. Court- 
land, “to keep the mind and the heart well balanced. We 
should take care neither to indulge in too much feeling nor 
too much thought. They mutually influence each other ; 
and when one is suffered to become disordered, it follows, 
of course, that the other must become disordered likewise.” 

“We should undoubtedly aim,” answered Mr. Russell, 
“ to establish such a balance in regard to all the pursuits 
and employments of life. This, perhaps, is the secret of 
success in every prosperous undertaking.” 

“ Why, yes,” said Mr. Courtland, who now saw another 
opportunity of indulging his remarks on the subject of his 
favorite hobby. “ Here is my farm, which I am far from 
believing is one of the worst in the world. I think I may 
certainly say that I have kept it pretty well balanced. It is 
composed of aggregate proportions of upland and meadow 
— of orchard, corn-ground, and wheat-land. Each part is 
treated according to the most approved methods of culti- 
vation, and in reference to its relation and utility to the 
whole. Indeed, these separate portions of land are as 
necessary to each other as the members of the human 
body, and taken altogether they constitute one complete, 
productive, and undivided farm. But if I should undertake 
to pay more attention to one part of it than another, this ad- 
mirable symmetry and equilibrium would soon be destroyed, 
just like it would be if more attention were paid to certain 
organs and faculties than to others in the human body.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


223 


“ BIoav me !” cried Rowland, who seemed to have caught 
his master’s enthusiasm, “ if it is not a glorious farm, and 
here we are at the very spot to prove it!” 

They had now arrived at a high eminence, situated at 
nearly the center of Mr. Courtland’s possessions, and which 
commanded a distinct view of separate portions of his admi- 
rable domain in all directions. The prospect from this emi- 
nence was one of exceeding great interest and beauty. We 
are accustomed to admire magnificent buildings erected by 
architectural skill. We are equally pleased with the inge- 
nious arrangement of extensive factories, the neat and im- 
posing combinations of vast ranges of machinery, and the 
wonderful art displayed in preparing a mighty ship for 
the ocean. But there is a thousand times more beauty, 
more variety, and more magnificence in the orderly dispo- 
sition and arrangement of a first-rate farm. Nothing in 
itself can be more truly neat and attractive, more perfect, 
or better calculated to create wonder and admiration in the 
mind of the beholder. So thought the company who were 
that day called to witness the remarkable neatness and 
finish of Henry Courtland’s farm ; and they returned to the 
house fully satisfied that he was almost excusable for being 
vain of his treasure. 


CHAPTER XXXYII. 

When Percy Courtland arrived at Sacramento City he 
was intrusted by the agent of the Committee of Reform 
and Superintendence, who were about to assemble at that 
place, with the personal charge of transmitting to San 
Francisco a considerable amount of the precious metal, 
which they had bought from the miners in the neighbor- 
hood, and which was now to be transferred to their estab- 
lishment in this latter city, under the control and safe-keep- 
ing of Captain Lamberton. “We have assigned this task to 
you,” they said, “because we believe you to be honest and 
trustworthy, and we shall expect you to guard the treasure 
committed to you with the utmost care, and to defend it, if 
necessary, at the risk of your life. Should you prove faith- 


224 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


-ful and triumphant in tlie discharge of yonr duty you will 
receive a reward in proportion to your fidelity and merits — 
but should you prove recreant or dishonest to the trust 
confided in you, you may rest assured that the conse- 
quences will fall, with no circumstances of mitigation, on 
your own head.”. 

The treasure was contained in a large leathern pouch or 
bag, strongly secured under lock and key, and carried in 
a box on an ordinary two-wheeled carriage or sulky. 
Percy was armed at the expense of the Committee, and 
started oft’ in high spirits, complimenting himself with the 
hope that he might now reasonably expect to realize a con- 
siderable sum of money by the undertaking, which would 
make up for the ill success that hitherto had attended him in 
his mining operations. Nothing of consequence befell him 
that day on the road. At night he arrived at a ranche, 
about half the distance between Sacramento and San Fran- 
cisco, at which he found two individuals already assembled 
who seemed to be traveling like himself, and whose ap- 
pearance he regarded with but little grace or favor. These 
men he would willingly have avoided had it been in his 
power ; but, as there was no other convenient stopping- 
place that could give him shelter for the night, and as both 
himself and his horse stood in great need of refreshment, 
he was compelled to alight, without attempting to proceed 
any farther, and to place himself and his treasure under 
the protection of the host or landlord. The treasure was 
carried into the house, and the landlord agreed to be 
responsible for its safety. 

The rude hostelrie at which our adventurer sought for 
refreshment and accommodation that night was on a par 
with similar houses of entertainment established for public 
convenience in all parts of California. It was possessed 
of but very scanty means of comfort, and although it offered 
no kind of refreshment whatever without exacting an ex- 
orbitant price for the amount of entertainment furnished, it 
was nevertheless rather regarded by the person at the head 
of it as an establishment intended for private comfort, 
where hospitality was dispensed as a favor, than as a 
means of accommodation got up for money. Little atten- 
tion was paid to the wants or necessities of travelers. 
Every guest was expected to take care of himself— to 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


225 


pasture his own horse, to attend to his own baggage, and 
sometimes even to provide his own bed. Percy Courtland 
thought it a little remarkable, therefore, that the landlord, 
on the present occasion, should have so willingly taken 
charge of the treasure committed to his custody. 

It was not without some concern and hesitation that Percy 
suffered the box which contained it to pass out of his own 
hands. But he resolved to see to its safety by a vigilant over- 
sight. For this purpose he took his position in a corner of 
the cabin where the box was directly under the cognizance 
of his own eyes, and where he kept it in view even while 
partaking of the coarse provisions that were served up for 
his evening’s repast. The two travelers who were present 
on his first arrival had not escaped his attention. He 
watched their movements with some degree of suspicion, 
if not of alarm, and his apprehensions became not the less 
fearful when, just before they left the apartment, he over- 
heard the following conversation between them : 

“ The grand committee,” said the older to the younger- 
looking traveler, “ is about to assemble at Sacramento City, 
and I suppose they have bought up all the yellow stuff 
that has been collected the last two months in the neigh- 
borhood. This is hardly fair, as you may well know, Mar- 
tin Blakely, seeing they buy it at a discount of no less than 
twenty-five per cent. And our worthy employer, Captain 
Lamberton, is a full sharer in this impudent speculation, 
and we are here to do his dirty work, without being re- 
warded with an extra ounce of the glittering metal for our 
pains. 1 think, Martin, this is not exactly democratic — it 
is not according to the true spirit of Californian liberty.” 

“Hush, Reuben Maxwell I” exclaimed his companion, 
“ you are enough to alarm the whole neighborhood by 
your prating. Haven’t we got thje golden mountain under 
lock and key at San Francisco, and haven’t we got it in our 
power just to dictate such terms as we please ? Let Cap- 
tain Lamberton, or any of the honorable gentlemen com- 
posing this famous committee, attempt to bar us of our 
rights, and I for one go in for the plunder of the public 
treasury. They know better than to cross our path, for, 
although they have undertaken to regulate the country, 
yet I tell you, Reuben, it won’t stay regulated. But I 
find 1 am prating like yourself, and who knows but the 


226 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


fellow who was here a few minutes ago may be listening 
with an ear-trumpet. We must be wary, comrade, and 
show that we know how to do our business like men who 
have learned it thoroughly.” 

“ And therefore let us retire for awhile,” said the elder 
guest, “ in order that we may be certainly out of harm^s 
way. ” 

It was evident to the mind of Percy Courtland that the 
two travelers had been slightly drinking, so as to give a 
loose exercise to their tongues, notwithstanding they still 
retained a sufficient share of sobriety to put them on their 
guard against a reckless and indiscreet exposure. It was 
owing, perhaps, to this cause too that they entirely over- 
looked the presence of Percy, who, although he had pur- 
posel}’’ ensconced himself in one corner of the apartment so 
as to attract as little attention as possible, would have 
been probably detected by eyes that were not dimmed 
by the fumes arising from their previous libations to 
Bacchus. 

After the two men had withdrawn from the apartment, 
Percy was naturally led to consider the purport of the con- 
versation in which they had indulged. But of this he 
could form no certain or reasonable conjecture. How 
much, if any of it, related to himself it was utterly out of 
his power to determine. That these men were the agents 
and emissaries of Captain Lamberton, for some purpose or 
other, he could not for a moment doubt. That they were 
not entirely satisfied with his conduct toward them, and 
that they believed they had it in their power to right 
themselves against any wrong he might see proper to in- 
flict, was equally certain. But beyond this he was unable 
to comprehend their meaning. All that he could deter- 
mine in his own mind. was, that he ought to be on his 
guard. 

The caution he had been taught by the two men who had 
talked with so much freedom, but with so much mystery to 
each other, he was determined at once to observe. Calling 
on his landlord, therefore, for the box containing the treas- 
ure he was transporting, and which he believed he had not 
lost sight of for a single moment during the whole evening, 
he placed it under his arm, and expressed a wish to retire to 
bed. The landlord conducted him to a garret or loft above 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


227 


the main building, which, owing to the heat of the weather, 
received the cool air from an opening at each end of the 
same, and which enabled our adventurer to extend his ob- 
servations to a considerable distance over the level country. 
The moon was shining in silver brightness, and not a cloud 
intervened to throw a shadow over surrounding objects. 
Percy stood at one of the openings we have mentioned, 
and gazing across the white light that so beautifully re- 
posed on the face of the landscape before him, he caught 
sight of a small carriage or barouche encamped near the 
edge of a wood not far otf, a horse feeding at its side, and 
the owner apparently slumbering in the interior of the 
vehicle. He was somewhat surprised at first that he had 
not observed this sight before, but recollecting the little 
opportunity he had previously enjoyed of exploring the 
premises, and the necessary restraint he had laid on him- 
self during the early part of the evening, he was at no loss 
to account for the manner in which it had escaped his no- 
tice. Nor was there anything remarkable in the sight it- 
self. It was a common thing for travelers to carry with 
them their own supplies of food both for horse and man, 
to encamp out in the woods at night, and to depart the 
next morning with no indebtedness to mortal for aid or 
comfort except what was derived from their own resources. 
After enjoying the beauties of the moonlight scenery a little 
longer, Percy placed the box he had brought with him at 
the head of the homely bed or pallet on which he was 
about to cast his person, and, committing himself to the 
care of Omnipotence, slept soundly until the next morn- 
ing. 

When he awoke it was broad daylight, and the first 
thing he noticed on approaching the opening or window 
at which he had been standing the previous night was, 
that the traveler who had encamped at the edge of the 
distant wood had already taken his departure. He was 
able to discern, from marks on the ground left behind by 
the horse and carriage, that the person who accompanied 
it was traveling in an opposite direction from that which 
he himself had been pursuing. Feeling no particular in- 
terest, however, in what he regarded as but an every-day 
occurrence, and placing his box, which continued to rest 
safely on his bed, again under his arm, he descended to 


228 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


the lower apartment of the building. On inquiry he found 
the two travelers, who had attracted so much of his at- 
tention the previous evening, had likewise made their 
exit. 

Percy repaired to the spot where he had secured his 
horse the night before, still careful to retain about his per- 
son the box which had now become to him an object of 
so much solicitude — and depositing this with great care in 
the place assigned for it under the seat he occupied while 
driving, he harnessed the horse to the sulky with his own 
hands, and immediately departed on his journey without 
waiting for breakfast. 

Nothing of moment happened to disturb his quiet pre- 
vious to his reaching San Francisco. He entered the city 
with the pleasing consciousness of having performed his 
duty well, and with a thankful heart for the peace and se- 
curity with which he had been suffered to complete his 
journey. But he was not unmindful of the relation in which 
he stood toward Captain Lamberton. He remembered 
his conversation with Billy Braxton on this subject, and 
was reminded of the hints that individual had thrown out 
of the captain’s determination, if possible, to injure him. 
And yet he had no clear insight into the cause of this 
man’s hostility against him. He was well aware that the 
captain had treated him unkindly,, if not maliciously, in 
the City of New York, by endeavoring to impair his 
credit with a class of men among whom he was seeking 
for employment ; but he had never been able to define the 
reason of this sort of treatment, and was disposed to believe 
that it proceeded more from some private grudge he had 
conceived against him than from any selfish scheme of 
settled hatred or animosity. “ At all events,” he said to 
himself, “it is out of his power to operate to my disad- 
vantage in relation to the business which has now brought 
me to this city. I come as the agent — as the ambassador, 
I may say, of highly respectable men with whom he is 
himself connected — of men whom he will not dare to 
thwart, because his interests are intimately identified with 
their own. I come, moreover, as the accredited prosecutor 
of a successful mission, which is not only to procure me a 
generous reward, but which is to raise my character and 
standing in society. What, then, have I to fear from Cap- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


229 


tain Lamberton ? When he understands the exact nature 
of my intentions and business — the true extent of the honor 
that has been done me — may I not rather hope to win his 
esteem and applause, and find him desirous of seeking my 
own favor and friendship ?” 

Occupied with such reflections as these, Percy Courtland 
stood at the massy gate of that fortified defense which 
frowned in the rear of the mercantile establishment of 
Captain Lamberton, and which we have already attempted 
to describe in another part of our story. He knocked for 
admittance, and in a few moments he was suffered to enter. 
The ponderous gate again moved on its hinges, and he 
found himself shut up within the narrow limits of that 
ominous inclosure. 

One of the first things that arrested Percy’s attention, 
after he was admitted to the inside of this gloomy-looking 
prison-yard, was, that he stood in the presence of those 
very two men whom he had seen at the ranche the even- 
ing before, and whose conversation he found it so difficult 
to understand. Of their identity he entertained no doubt 
whatever. Nor did this second meeting tend to give him 
a more favorable opinion of their real character and dispo- 
sition. They were now sober, and were less loquacious 
than they had been the night before. But they exhibited 
the same sinister expression of countenance, the same 
recklessness of feeling, the same unequivocal marks of 
baseness and treachery. Percy gazed at them in silence 
for a moment, as if unwilling to hold communion with 
beings so singularly repulsive and suspicious. At last 
he asked, in an almost faltering voice, for Captain Lam- 
berton. 

“He will be here in a moment,” said one of them. “ He 
has gone in search of the scales which is to ascertain the 
amount of the precious stuff brought by you, and now to 
be placed on deposit.” 

Percy alighted from the vehicle which he had driven 
into the inclosure, and again instinctively caught the box, 
containing the rich burden he had been transporting, in his 
arms. He then pulled out of his pocket an inventory or 
schedule of its contents, which he held in his hand, ready 
to deliver to Captain Lamberton. 

The captain soon made his appearance, and approached 
20 


230 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


Percy with an affectation of cordial greeting, and with a 
countenance different from what he had worn a few days 
before when they first encountered each other in the same 
city. 

“You are welcome, my young friend,” he said, “to the 
mercantile house of Lamberton & Co. I can hardly sup- 
pose that you are aware of the exertions I have made to 
place you in the way of your present appointment; but 
men who are truly kind and benevolent are not apt to 
boast of the favors they bestow on others. Let me see 
your credentials, and the amount of the metallic currency 
you have brought to the bank.” 

Percy handed him the paper he had a few moments 
before taken from his pocket. Lamberton glanced his eye 
at it carelessly, and then remarked, as if in a tone of pleas- 
ing exultation, “ Ay ! ay ! we have reason to be satisfied. 
The investment is growing better on our hands, and each 
of the shareholders will, after awhile, receive a handsome 
dividend. But come, Mr. Courtland, follow me ! We will 
adjust this matter in the room above.” 

So saying, the captain led the way by a path which ter- 
minated at a common foot-ladder, reaching up to the same 
building which was partly occupied by Agnes and her 
companion, but to a different door from the one they had 
entered. The door opened into a narrow passage or gal- 
lery, which was dark and gloomy, and led directly to a 
similar door at the other end of it. When they arrived at 
this entrance the captain knocked slightly with his hand, 
accompanying this movement with a low expiration or 
whistle, which was immediately responded to by some 
person within, who appeared to make the same kind of 
noise, and who proceeded to unbar the door for their ad- 
mission. The door swung toward the inside of the apart- 
ment, and the person who opened it seemed intentionally 
to screen himself from observation by falling behind it, and 
then gliding hastily into the narrow entry. Captain Lam- 
berton himself as hastily shutting the door on him as he 
retired. These movements were executed with so much 
rapidity, and were so little anticipated by Percy, that he 
had but small opportunity of seeing the figure that had 
so suddenly vanished from the apartment. But he did 
catch a glimpse of his person ; and, from the view which 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


231 


fell so indistinctly on his eyesight, he was forcibly im- 
pressed with the belief that the fleeting apparition in real- 
ity constituted the substantial form and features of that 
mysterious personage, Billy Braxton. 

The first act of Captain Lamberton, after he and his 
companion became fairly inclosed together in the apart- 
ment from which the other person had just made his es- 
cape, was to lock the door, and put the key in his pocket. 
This movement was not regarded by Percy as indicating 
anything very remarkable, after he had an opportunity, 
for a few minutes, of gazing round the room into which he 
had just been ushered, and contemplating the objects which 
crowded its interior. The room itself seemed to run par- 
allel with the narrow gallery outside, and was in length 
much greater than in breadth. Its floor was constructed 
of massy plank, with a central post or column extending 
through the ceiling above, and apparently resting on the 
solid ground below at the foundation of the building. 
Like the room into which Agnes and her attendant had 
been first introduced, it was evident it had been con- 
structed with a principal view to its strength and dura- 
bility, although it possessed other peculiarities equally 
adapted to the purposes for which it was erected. At 
each side of it, and at equal distances from each other, 
shallow indentations or recesses had been left in the solid 
timber, and these were filled up either with ponderous 
iron safes, such as are common now in all the mercantile 
houses of our large cities, or with thickly-studded leather 
trunks or boxes, which might have been of almost equal 
strength and weight with the safes themselves. There 
was but one window in the apartment, and that looked 
out on naked space at a very elevated distance from the 
ground, and was so obscured and confined that the light 
streamed through it but in faint and somber patches. 

Captain Lamberton drew nearer to this light when he 
again undertook to scrutinize the paper on which were in- 
scribed the weight and quality of the precious metal that 
had been committed to the care of Percy Courtland. “ I 
see,” he at length exclaimed, ‘‘you have brought twelve 
hundred ounces, which I will now proceed to weigh with 
these scales.” So saying, he requested Percy to unlock 
the box which inclosed the leathern case or pouch con- 


232 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


taining this costly treasure, and as soon as he received it 
into his hands he remarked, “ It seems light — much too 
light. I am afraid there is some mistake here.” 

Percy made no other reply than merely to say, “We 
shall know more about that after it is weighed.” 

The contents were accordingly arranged in separate 
parcels, and it was soon found that the whole together ex- 
ceeded little more than half the reported amount. 

“Young man,” exclaimed Lamberton, “you are ruined! 
I am sorry that I recommended you to the Committee ; 
but it is thus that our best actions are sometimes re- 
warded.” 

Percy was struck to the heart by a feeling of fear, 
anxiety, and shame, which for a moment rendered him 
entirely speechless. At last he cried out, “ I hope you 
do not accuse me of having done anything wrong. Captain 
Lamberton ?” 

“ I accuse no man,” answered the captain. “It is your 
own conscience that must accuse you — it is the evidence of 
this deficient weight — the test of these just and equal bal- 
ances — that must accuse you.” 

“ But I am not guilty,” answered Percy, with warmth. 
“ I have been wronged somewhere, and in some manner, 
but I cannot tell where or how. I must go back, and, 
in the best way I can, endeavor to ferret out this mys- 
tery. ” 

“ You cannot do that without first obtaining my per- 
mission,” answered Lamberton, “ and that permission I 
am bound to withhold until I shall have an opportunity of 
consulting with the Committee who confided to you a task 
of so much value and importance. I hope you may be in- 
nocent, young man,” he continued to say, “ but you ought 
to have learned before this time that in California a breach 
of trust is equal to an open and unqualified felony.” 

“I have committed no breach of trust, and no felony I” 
answered Percy, with indignation. “ Let me return, that 
I may at least make an effort to vindicate my conduct from 
these reproaches.” 

“Yes!” said Captain Lamberton, “and involve others, 
perhaps, in the effect of your own rascality. No ! no I 
Percy Courtland, that will never do ! You are my pris- 
oner by virtue of the open exhibition you have here made 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


233 


of want of faithfulness in the discharge of a simple duty, 
and according to the conventional usages which govern 
this good territory of California.” 

“ Sir!” exclaimed Percy, bursting with choler, “you are 
the betrayer — you are the person seeking to violate the 
faith and honor you pretend to value so highly I When I 
entered on these premises, and placed myself under this 
roof, I considered that your word and honor were pledged 
for my protection. But you are now about to abuse the 
contidence I reposed in you, and not only to infringe the 
laws of justice, but to impugn the sacred principles of hos- 
pitality. Sir! let me escape from this prison ! let me seek 
the protection of society beyond these gloomy walls ! I 
will go with you anywhere — I will answer to any charge 
you may bring against me — only let me stand before an 
impartial tribunal, and not be incarcerated in this solitary 
dungeon without hearing and without trial.” 

“ That language would be very imposing to a man un- 
acquainted with the world. Master Courtland,” said Lam- 
berton, “ but I must confess that I am bound to look for 
some better security of your person than the mere vapor- 
ing contained in the magnificent rhetoric you are pleased 
to make use of on the present occasion.” 

“ The language I have made use of, Captain Lamber- 
ton,” answered Percy, “ I know to be the language of sober- 
ness and good sense. You, sir, have seen proper, on the 
contrary, to indulge in reflections as false and scurrilous 
as I believe to be the state of your own corrupt and dis- 
honest heart. I am well aware that this is not your first 
attempt to injure me, nor would I be doing more than 
simple justice to myself were I to use the power I pos- 
sess (showing a pistol which was concealed in his bosom), 
as a means to free me from the effects of your baseness 
and treachery. But to fight my way from the duress 
under which you hold me might not only be attended with 
injury to yourself, but would in all probability involve me 
in further difficulties. For your sake, therefore, as well as 
my own, I submit for the present to the circumstances 
which have put me in your power. One thing I feel as- 
sured of, and that is, that sooner or later you will be 
brought to condign punishment for an act which is as 
cowardly as it is unwarrantable and illegal.” 

20 * 


234 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


The word cowardly was pronounced by Percy with an 
emphasis that was intended to render it fully significant 
to the ears of the person to whom it was addressed. But 
that gentleman, although he colored slightly, and gave 
some evidence of his sense of the indignity with which he 
had been assailed, contrived to suppress the emotion he 
felt, and replied with apparent coolness, “ Then, Mr. Court- 
land, suffer me to introduce you into another apartment, 
which you will find better adapted to the circumstances 
under which you are unfortunately placed at present.” 

So saying, he opened a door opposite the one at which 
they had entered, made signs for Percy to follow him, and 
having secured his prisoner in this manner, without further 
ceremony or conversation he locked him in, and withdrew 
from the apartment. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

The room in which Percy now found himself was low, 
dark, and narrow, with a bunk or couch to sleep on in one 
corner of it and a chair and small table in another, but 
without any other signs of comfort or convenience. There 
was one peculiarity about it, however, that attracted 
Percy’s attention. In the corner, just above the couch or 
bed on which it was intended the prisoner should repose, 
there was an opening or trap-door that he conjectured com- 
municated with a loft in the upper story of the building, 
and which he supposed might have at one time been used 
as an additional sleeping apartment. But the exact nature 
or design of this communication he had no ready means 
of ascertaining. 

Percy now sat down on the only chair with which his 
gloomy apartment was furnished, and began to indulge in 
such reflection as the strange events that had just befallen 
him seemed naturally to- inspire. 

“How dark and mysterious,” he said to himself, “are 
the changes of fortune to which we are continually ex- 
posed in our progress through life ! At least my own ad- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


235 


ventures have thus far been as strange and unaccountable 
as they have been painful and embarrassing. But all this 
has happened to me since I undertook to improve my con- 
dition in the world, and to shape my own destiny. A few 
months ago I was happy — happy in the enjoyment of do- 
mestic love, peace, and prosperity — happy in the sunshine 
of parental affection — in the reciprocal warmth of frater- 
nal esteem and regard — in the sacred observance of filial 
duty. My occupations were such as to exercise and invig- 
orate the body, as well as to afford pleasure and improve- 
ment to the mind. But I was willing to exchange the 
caresses of parental love — the holy tranquillity of domestic 
peace and quiet — the calm pleasures and pursuits of a use- 
ful employment — for the checkered and conflicting dreams 
of worldly gain and worldly ambition. And now, where 
am I? How 'have I realized the golden expectations 
which I suffered so foolishly to dazzle and bewilder my 
imagination ? The world to me has been cruel and unjust 
I asked for bread, and, in its hardness and insensibility, it 
gave me a stone. I asked to become enlisted in the tur- 
moil and bustle of business, and I was rejected as one who 
was alien to the claims and sympathy of society. I at last 
found my way to this land of hope and speculation, and all 
my labors ended but in sorrow and disappointment. And 
now, when I thought I had rendered myself useful in the 
discharge of an important trust committed to me, I find 
myself suddenly apprehended as a felon, and my person 
confined to the gloomy cell of a private prison. Such is 
the return which the world has made to one who supposed 
he would be happy abroad only because he was dissatisfied 
at home. But 1 will not murmur. It is a lesson, indeed, 
that has been dearly learned, but which may teach me a 
thousand things to make the world worth living for after 
all. Nay, it is a lesson which will teach me the secrets of 
my own heart — my want of judgment — my pride — my self- 
will — my little ability, without other assistance, to govern 
and direct myself. Having learned all this, it will only be 
necessary that I should begin a new life, in order that I 
may experience a better fortune, and arrive at a new and 
permanent degree of happiness. If I have not voluntarily 
humbled myself, I have at least been humbled by circum- 
stances ; and who will say that even this humility may 


236 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


not lead to that exaltation which is promised to the meek 
and lowly ?” 

In indulging such reflections as these, Percy’s bosom 
gradually assumed the warmth which it borrowed from 
the fervor of his faith and the strength of his imagination. 
His heart was filled with new hope and new resolution. 
Visions, bright and beautiful, — expectations that hung on 
the future with joy and gladness, — carried him forward to 
a period of his existence when he should be emancipated 
from his present disgraceful confinement, and his good 
thoughts and good intentions should again assert their 
claims to regard amid the recognitions and acknowledg- 
ments of his fellow-men. “Yes!” he exclaimed aloud, 
“there is a bright side to this changing world still, and all 
that is required to enjoy it is a courageous and cheerful 
heart !” 

“ Do you say so, my dear Percy ?” exclaimed a voice, 
which surprised, if it did not terrify our lonely prisoner. 
“ Do you say so ?” it continued. “ Then lend me a helping 
hand, and happily we may be led to form some schemes 
which will enable us to enjoy it together.” 

Percy gazed round the apartment with fearful anxiety. 
Nothing, however, was visible but the same somber gloom 
that enveloped it at his first entrance. But his ear was 
attracted to the trap-door which opened, as we have 
already mentioned, above the bunk in the corner where 
was situated his lowly bed. Gradually the door was 
lifted up, and a human form immediately afterward sus- 
pended itself from the opening. Percy now became fully 
sensible that his assistance was necessary in order to in- 
troduce this form into the apartment below. He accord- 
ingly tendered the help that had in the first instance been 
requested, and in a moment afterward Billy Braxton and 
Percy Courtland stood side by side in the narrow apart- 
ment which the latter regarded as his prison. 

“And so, Percy!” exclaimed the former, “you have 
been soliloquizing and philosophizing, like a man whose 
nose has been ground by the sharp asperities of the world, 
but who still stands confident and erect, without having 
sustained any other injury than a spoiled face. Well, you 
have been fortunate in escaping with the distortion of one 
member only, although, by a striking coincidence, that is 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


23t 


the one which marks your boldness in scenting your way 
in society. But a man who has a prominent nose will 
always be aiming at a prominent station, and it is not to 
be wondered at, therefore, that that member should be oc- 
casionally jostled from its equipoise. Better that than the 
whole body to be shaken to pieces like a scarecrow in a 
thunder-storm.” 

Percy was highly amused, and was somewhat aston- 
ished at the cool, collected humor of his companion. It 
was with a spice of the same humor, therefore, that he 
answered, — 

“ I am at a loss to understand you. You have not only 
dropped upon me like a ghost, but you have undertaken to 
speak to me like an oracle. While I am simply seeking 
to know where you came from, you see proper to hold 
forth in a strain of metaphor which almost makes me be- 
lieve that you are a genuine specter. I am half tempted 
to exclaim with the mad prince, ‘ Angels and ministers of 
grace, defend us. ’ ” 

“ And although,” said Braxton, “ I will not say that I 
am doomed to fast in fire, yet I might, with great truth, 
allege that I could a tale unfold which, if not quite so hor- 
rible, would at least be almost as marvelous as the ghost’s. 
But a truce to this nonsense. Let it suffice you for the 
present to know that I am acquainted with all the secret 
hiding-places and labyrinthine windings of this modern 
fortress or castle, from the straight upright shaft which 
you passed in the other apartment, to the little trap-door 
in yonder corner, through which I descended in order to 
get into this.” 

“ But why,” asked Percy, “visit me thus by stealth and 
in secret ? I believe you passed me from the adjoining 
apartment, as I entered, and infer from that circumstance 
that you are still in the confidence and employment of 
Captain Lamberton. Why, therefore, is it not in your 
power to visit this part of his premises at any time 
you may desire, without secrecy and without conceal- 
ment ?” 

“ For the simple reason,” replied Braxton, “ that the 
captain himself prefers managing his prisoners, whenever 
he has any, in his own way, and at the cost of his own 
personal oversight and labor. He is not willing that I 


238 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


should hold the slightest intercourse with them on any 
occasion. Whether this proceeds from a want of con- 
fidence in me, or an overweening reliance on his own skill 
and management, can make no difference, since in either 
case I am forbidden to speak to them, or even to see them, 
if that can be avoided. This will account for the signal 
that passed between us, and the manner in which I retired 
from the apartment, at the time he and you were making 
your entrance in company.” 

“ But why, then,” answered Percy, “ have you ventured 
to visit me on the present occasion ? Surely you must 
run some risk in an attempt like this to oppose the 
wishes and designs of such a man as Captain Lam- 
berton.” 

“By my faith, Percy, you are right!” exclaimed Brax- 
ton, “ and if this were the only risk I had to run since my 
connection with that base individual, the evil would not be 
so great after all. But listen. Master Courtland, to a con- 
fession which I now make as freely to you as I hope it will 
soon place us both on a footing of greater ease and safety 
than we enjoy at present. You knew me years ago, at a 
time when my constitutional sluggishness and indifference 
had overpowered my better faculties, and had induced me 
to simulate a character which not only rendered me insig- 
nificant, and turned me from the nobler pursuits of men, 
but really made me mean and contemptible in my own 
eyes. Prom that state of inglorious ease and inaction I 
suddenly roused myself by entering into the service of 
Captain Lamberton. I was able to change my manners, 
my habits, and, in many important respects, my whole 
character. And yet I was not so entirely changed but 
that I still retained my former ability of assuming an out- 
ward deportment which was greatly at variance with the 
true state of my feelings and disposition. I soon dis- 
covered that Captain Lamberton entertained a selfish pur- 
pose of entering into a tender and near relationship with 
Miss Russell, which he and I were equally aware would 
meet with her decided disapprobation. But, under the cir- 
cumstances, I still found it necessary to dissemble — not, 
indeed, with any design on my part of making myself an 
accomplice in carrying out the schemes he had in view, 
but with the object of retaining my position in his esteem 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


239 


and favor for awhile, until I should finally be able more com- 
pletely to baffle him in his projects, and defeat a scheme 
which might prove so injurious to the young lady. It 
was utterly impossible that I should abandon his service 
without destroying my own prospect of rising again in 
the world, and restoring myself to that station of respect- 
ability to which I thought myself justly entitled. I, there- 
fore, suffered myself to become his confidant, listened to 
his designs of mischief, and sometimes even seemed to 
lend my assistance to their more perfect accomplishment. 
But God knows with what determined reservations I ac- 
ceded to his wishes. If, in doing this, I really violated 
any principle of truth or justice 1 ,trust to be forgiven. 
All that I can say is that my ultimate intentions were 
good — good toward Miss Russell, good toward the 
world, and good even toward Captain Lamberton him- 
self. And now the time seems to be approaching when 
these intentions may be fulfilled. The schemes against 
Miss Russell have nearly ripened to maturity, and either 
she must be caught in the snare that has been laid for 
her, or efforts must be made at once for her deliverance.” 

Percy listened with intense interest to the language 
uttered by Braxton, and when he had concluded ex- 
claimed, — 

“ This recital is strange indeed. And yet it may be true 
— it must be true. But how is Captain Lamberton able 
to injure Miss Russell here ? She is far away in the State 
of New York, and he is at the present moment an in- 
habitant of this very city, and thousands of miles from 
her.” 

“ In that,” said Braxton, “ suffer me to say that you are 
mistaken. Miss Russell is not far from this place. She is 
in California, and is an inhabitant of the same city with 
Captain Lamberton.” 

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Percy, “you do not mean 
to say that Agnes Russell has really arrived in Califor- 
nia — that she is now near us, and dwelling in this very 
city ?” 

“ Be calm and listen,” said Braxton. “ In a few 
moments you will be acquainted with her whole story.” 
He then proceeded to recount to Percy the principal inci- 
dents in relation to that young lady’s visit to California 


240 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


with which the reader has already become acquaiated, the 
part which he himself had acted in relation to this matter, 
and the motives which influenced his conduct. When he 
had done, Percy again, with much eagerness and anxiety, 
repeated the question, — 

But where is she ? May I not have an opportunity 
of seeing and conversing with her ? Does she not stand 
in need of a friend — of a protector — and ought I not to 
render her that assistance which, perhaps, she can expect 
to receive from no one else 

“Hush!” cried Braxton. “You forget that you are 
helpless and a prisoner, and that you yourself stand in 
need of that very assistance which you believe it in your 
power to extend to others. The great object of my visit 
to you at this time is, to convince you that it will be your 
interest, and the interest of Miss Russell too, to remain 
calm and quiet, until circumstances shall so far develop 
themselves as to demand your personal interference for 
her rescue as well as your own. In the mean time resolve 
to be guided by my instructions. I have prepared you 
for the issue, and whatever may happen, be on your guard 
to act under every emergency with boldness, but always 
with judgment and prudence. Suffer me now to retire. 
It is impossible I should remain here longer without 
danger.” So saying, Braxton, aided by Percy, made his 
escape through the same opening by which he had en- 
tered, and left his friend to his own troubled thoughts and 
reflections. 

Percy rose from his seat, and paced the narrow apart- 
ment in which he was confined with hurried steps. Brax- 
ton, as the reader has perceived, was studious in conceal- 
ing from him the fact of Miss Russell being held in duress 
by Captain Lamberton, under the same roof, believing he 
had good reasons for keeping the knowledge of that fact 
from his friend. He very well knew that if Percy should 
become acquainted with a circumstance of so much import- 
ance, he would in all probability grow impatient and rest- 
less, and would jeopard the interests of all parties by try- 
ing to effect an interview with Agnes before the time for 
doing so had arrived. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


241 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Hays and weeks passed away, and Percy and Agnes 
still continued to be held under that kind of restraint 
which amounted to virtual imprisonment Braxton made 
out to communicate occasionally with both the parties, 
and whenever he had opportunity he enjoined on them 
the exercise of a little more patience, told them that the 
hour of deliverance would most certainly come, and en- 
couraged them with the hope of brighter days and of better 
prospects. The old woman who waited on Agnes and her 
companion, more perhaps from a feeling of her own self- 
importance than from any real sympathy for the suffer- 
ings of persons whose sorrows she was unable to under- 
stand, paid so much attention to their outward wants as 
to save them from any positive or peculiar privation. Cap- 
tain Lamberton himself was by no means remiss in his 
attentions to Agnes. But these attentions were more like 
the inquisitorial visits of a government officer to a state 
prisoner than like the tender assiduities of a friend, intent 
on healing the sorrows of a lacerated and wounded heart. 
He often came to her room with forced smiles and affected 
solicitations for her welfare, but never without pressing a 
suit which she repulsed and disdained, and which always 
left her more miserable than she had been before. 

On one of these occasions he had been unusally warm 
and ardent in his addresses. Maggy had been permitted 
to retire for a brief interval with the old woman, their at- 
tendant, and this gave him an opportunity of making his 
appeals with more warmth and earnestness. Finding 
that his attempts at blandishment and flattery were of 
little avail, he at last began to utter threats of ven- 
geance. 

“ Do you know, Miss Russell,” he said, ‘‘that I have it 
in my power to affect your peace and happiness in a most 
tender point ? Do you know that that brother whom you 
profess to love so dearly, and for whose sake you say you 

21 


242 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


have encountered so much and suffered so much, is liable 
to be persecuted at my instance for a gross violation of the 
laws by which the people of this territory have agreed to 
be governed ? Do you know that I am able to bring him 
to punishment, to disgrace, to imprisonment — nay, that I 
may even expose him to risk of perishing miserably on 
the gallows like a murderer or a felon ? Do you know 
this, proud girl, and will you still continue in your per- 
verseness and obstinacy to deny my suit, and to insult my 
feelings 

Agnes Russell was not proud, but she possessed that 
exquisite sense of high and honorable feeling which made 
her shrink as it were from the least touch of contamina- 
tion. Nor was this quick sensibility alive alone to the 
preservation and purity of her own character. She dis- 
liked to think that those who stood in near relationship 
toward her were the subjects of less purity and loftiness 
than herself. No wonder therefore that she should be 
roused by the aspersions so coarsely and wantonly uttered 
in her presence by Captain Lamberton — aspersions indeed 
not vented against herself, but what to her was equally 
provoking, against a brother whom she loved as she loved 
her own life — against him for whom she had risked and 
suffered so much, and whose honor and integrity were en- 
twined with the warmest pulsations of her heart. Her 
color rose, and her blood coursed more quickly through 
her veins, as she exclaimed, — 

“ Captain Lamberton, I defy you — I throw back on your 
own base character the false imputations you knowingly 
attempt to bring against a man whose name you are un- 
worthy to take on your libelous and polluted lips. 1 recall 
the memory of my brother’s virtues — I recall the recol- 
lection of your own vices — I appeal to your former base- 
ness and your present turpitude — to witness that you are 
a vile slanderer — a false accuser ! Think not to terrify me 
into submission by acts so unprincipled and so villainous 
as these. You may threaten, but I scorn your threats 
and I defy your malice. You may defame, but the breath 
of scandal proceeding from your unhallowed mouth only 
carries with it the true qualities of your disordered mind. 
Would that he were here whose reputation your lying lips 
have so wantonly sought to sully and vilify ! He would 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


243 


scourge the false spirit ‘out of you, and compel your 
cowardly soul to ask pardon for the iniury you haye 
done him.” 

The feelings under which Agnes labored may be judged 
of from the language she uttered with so much passion. 
Xor did her heart obtain relief in the expression even of 
such high-wrought grief and indignation. She experienced 
all the emotions of a strong nervous excitement, and only 
became calm after her agitated bosom had found vent in a 
flood of tears. 

As to Captain Lamberton, he retreated from the inter- 
view which he held with this simple but heroic girl like a 
man who felt humbled under a sense of his own guilt and 
unworthiness, but whose desperate resolutions impelled 
him forward to the commission of still greater iniquity, 
llis first object was to see Braxton, whom he contrived to 
meet in the same secret and gloomy apartment adjoining 
his counting-room which we have already attempted to 
describe, and which the reader will now perceive was under 
the same roof, and within the same walls, that confined the 
person of Agnes Russell and her two companions in cap- 
tivity. 

“ The miserable affair with this foolish girl,” he ob- 
served, “ has arrived at a crisis at last which requires at 
our hands the most prompt and energetic action. My 
prisoner is incorrigible, and with a desperate confidence 
in her own strength and resources holds me at defiance. 
It is unnecessary that I should give vent to my own feel- 
ings on an occasion so galling as this. All that I wish to 
say is, that she must be subdued — that if she will not 
listen to my entreaties she must be broughi to feel my 
revenge.” 

“ And pray, sir, how may this be effected ?” asked 
Braxton, with much apparent coolness and unconcern. 

“ She must be released from her place of confinement 
this very night,” answered Lamberton, “ and be taken to 
the old mission of Dolores, where I have made arrange- 
ments for her reception, and for the treatment she is to re- 
ceive in future.” 

“ But what of her companion ?” said Braxton. 

Let her be taken back to the hotel,” replied Lam- 
berton, “the landlord of which has my instructions to 


244 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


ship her to New York by the first opportunity. And as 
to Courtland, he must remain for the present in my cus- 
tody, as a hostage for the more gentle behavior of her 
with whom he is no doubt a particular favorite. The Com- 
mittee is about to assemble at Sacramento, whither it is 
necessary that we should all now repair, and I have given 
the necessary orders that this young man be cared for 
during our absence. You yourself must see to the re- 
moval of the girls. This you may easily do with the 
assistance of Blakely and Maxwell. I will meet you at 
Dolores, and there is reason for my setting out at once 
without a moment’s delay.” 

Having given these sudden and hasty orders, which his 
confidence in Braxton assured him would be as promptly 
obeyed, the captain withdrew without further remark or 
observation, leaving his agent to attend to the necessary 
preparations for accomplishing his wishes at his leisure. 
Braxton had no difficulty in regard to the course he was 
to pursue. If Lamberton had been busy in perfecting his 
schemes in one quarter, he had been no less diligent in 
carrying on his own measures in another. 

As soon as night arrived, Braxton was ready with a 
conveyance to receive the two females, and remove them 
to the places designated by Captain Lamberton. Before 
visiting their apartment, however, he had an interview 
with Percy Courtland. 

The hour has arrived,” said he, “ and you must now 
leave your place of confinement with as little noise and as 
much secrecy as possible. The two men whose duty it has 
been to stand guard in the fortified inclosure below, are ap- 
pointed to accompany me, and to take charge of Agnes 
and her companion, in the carriage. Other persons have 
no doubt been selected to supply their places as substi- 
tutes, but what arrangements have been made for this 
purpose I do not precisely understand, nor do 1 suppose 
it to be a matter to us of any consequence. All that it is 
necessary for you to do is, to find your way out of this 
gloomy apartment by the secret passages with which I 
have made you acquainted. This may require a little 
care, but will not be attended with much danger. After 
you shall have escaped to the open country there will be 
greater reason to apprehend a surprise. You must there- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


245 


fore use the utmost caution in traveling, and endeavor to 
reach the neighborhood of Sacramento City in safety.” 

Having conferred in this manner with Percy, Braxton 
now prepared to discharge the duty assigned him in regard 
to the two females. He had previously acquainted them 
with his intentions, and now led them from the apartment 
they occupieci to the carriage which waited at the gate of 
the inclosure. Here they met the two men who were to 
accompany them as an escort in the same vehicle. The 
appearance of these ruffians would have given them great 
alarm had they not been prepared by Braxton for the 
encounter. Agnes and her companion therefore quietly 
seated themselves in the carriage, and the two men fol- 
lowed their example. When all was ready, Braxton drove 
off toward the hotel where he was to leave Maggy, but 
not without feeling some little surprise on account of the 
perfect silence observed by both the females from the time 
he waited on them in their own apartment until they be- 
came seated in the carriage. 

When he reached the hotel, Maggy was politely handed 
out of the carriage by the landlord, who, having received 
his instructions from Captain Lamberton, conducted her 
to an apartment that was already provided for her. 
Agnes was left behind in the carriage, guarded like a 
criminal who was about to be transported for some ter- 
rible offense. 

Little was said by the two men during the progress of 
their journey. Once or twice, however, they seemed to 
express themselves in terms of indignation against Captain 
Lamberton, but owing to the rattling of the vehicle and the 
low and almost inaudible manner in which they spoke to- 
gether, nothing definite could be learned from their con- 
versation. Early in the morning they reached the mis- 
sion of Dolores" and Agnes, according to a previous 
arrangement concerted by Captain Lamberton, was handed 
over to an old padre, who still kept possession of the ruins 
of an establishment which it was evident had once been 
in a much more flourishing and prosperous condition. 

Braxton had received orders from Captain Lamberton 
to wait at Dolores until he himself should arrive, which 
gave the former an opportunity of observing the place 
more narrowly than he had ever done before, although he 

21 * 


246 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


had more than once visited the same neighborhood, and 
even lodged at the same mission. It presented to his eyes 
the utter decline and fall of a religious establishment, 
which now in its ruins seemed more particularly to re- 
semble the coarseness and austerity of its once earnest 
and perhaps sincere devotees. Indeed, there was little 
left about the whole domain save perishing and mutilated 
vestiges of what it once had been. No chapel — no turret 
or spire — not even a crucifix — indicated the purposes of 
its original consecration. It presented the sad spectacle 
of the evanescent nature of our dearest projects, liable to 
be overturned by the slow waste of time, even when they 
have escaped the more rapid workings of our own folly. 

“It is even thus,” said Braxton to himself, “that the 
vast arena of life is everywhere covered with pictures that 
have a resemblance in our own bosoms. In the spring we 
look around us with delight, and behold shadowed forth 
on the face of nature the aspirations and feelings of our 
youth, panting for the free air of heaven, budding forth 
into a glorious sunshine, and reaching forward toward the 
more perfect and more settled fullness of future existence. 
Each successive season stamps the colors of our thoughts 
on the page which it unfolds for our perusal. Each object 
that attracts our eyesight teems with lessons of instruction 
that may be read to advantage. The great map of nature 
is but a correspondence of the map of our minds, having 
its light and shadows flung over a surface of ever-changing 
variety. Every outward object seems to be subject to the 
same revolutions — to the same accidents — to the same 
decay and languor — that attends our inward experience. 
Once, we may imagine, there rose on this very spot a 
structure that was grand, attractive, and imposing — a 
building that seemed to defy the ravages and the changes 
of time. It was an oasis in the wilderness, a fountain in 
the desert from which flowed living waters. But not only 
must that stately structure be leveled with the dust, but 
the great object for which it was erected must cease like- 
wise. The worship and the temple — the altar and the 
priest — must perish together — and one but proclaims the 
certain destiny of the other. Well may it indeed be said 
in plain prose, and without the least respect for poetical 
imagery, that there is nothing true but heaven.” 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


24t 


There was a small garden attached to this missionary 
station, into which Braxton, as he had nothing else to do, 
was now induced to enter. He was soon convinced, how- 
ever, that even this spot possessed but few objects that 
were really inviting. Its walks had evidently been neg- 
lected. The few remains of shrubbery, that here and 
there grew in stunted and irregular patches, were knotted 
into inextricable disorder, and the scanty harvest of vege- 
tables that seemed to be dying out for want of culture, 
gave strong evidence that it was almost entirely abandoned 
by its keeper. Just as Braxton was about to turn his 
eyes from beholding a sight which gave him more pain 
than pleasure, the padre appeared at a low door which 
opened from the back part of the decayed building, and 
entered the inclosure. 

‘‘You are looking into my garden,’’ said the old man, as 
he tottered forward to the spot from which Braxton was 
just about turning away. “ It is like myself — frail, perish- 
ing, and mortal. It is dying out, like the receding spirit 
that flits from my own life.” 

“ I was just thinking so,” answered Braxton ; “ and yet 
in one particular the parallel will by no means hold good. 
The products of this garden — its flowers and its fruits 
— may be irrecoverably lost, — all may finally perish for 
want of care and attention. But that, father, cannot be the 
case with your own immortal spirit. The Keeper of that 
divine spark is always present to give it light and heat; 
and even should it be doomed to languish for a season, 
we know that it will again be kindled into a holier and 
brighter flame.” 

“ Thank you!” said the old man. “ The language you 
have just uttered embodies a sentiment to which my ears 
have been unaccustomed for a long time. Even my own 
soul has been overpowered by the darkness of this world, 
for want of that encouraging sympathy which religion 
itself requires in order that it may be sustained and per- 
fected. My friend, I again thank you for the cheering 
words that have fallen from your lips.” 

“But surely,” replied Braxton, “you must sometimes 
meet with men who entertain serious thoughts — men who 
share the common wants and feelings of humanity. Be- 
ligion itself is but a principle of our nature — an affection 


248 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


that is intimately connected with our wills and under- 
standings. Wherever there are men there must be re- 
ligion.” 

“Yes,” rejoined the old man, “just as wherever there is 
motion there is life. And yet the mystery of life is hard, 
very hard, to be understood. It all flows, indeed, from 
the same source, but much of it lies so deeply concealed 
that we do not see it at all. Like as the weeds choke 
the tender plants that are seeking for opportunity to grow 
in this garden, so, unless we are on our guard, the deceit- 
fulness of riches and the cares of this world, as we have 
been graciously taught, choke the good seed that is sown 
in our hearts.” 

“ Do you live here alone ?” asked Braxton. 

“ There is none to share my humble lot but myself,” an- 
swered the poor anchorite. “And yet,” he continued, “I 
am not without company. I am frequently honored with 
the visits of strangers and travelers, as I am at this 
moment favored with your own presence.” 

“And with the presence of another,” said Braxton, “ in 
whom you ought to feel a much greater interest.” 

“ There is, indeed, another lodged under my humble 
roof at present; but in regard to whom I as yet know 
but little — perhaps it ought to be my desire to know less.” 

“And yet it is but natural that we should seek to make 
ourselves acquainted with those who are about us,” said 
Braxton — “with those especially over whom we may have 
been appointed to exercise some prominent influence and 
oversight.” 

The old man colored slightly, and looked at Braxton 
with a countenance that betrayed some concern and un- 
easiness. Then stooping down, as if to adjust the oblique 
growth of a plant, but perhaps with the more direct ob- 
ject to hide his own confusion, he calmly replied, — 

“ She is, like the rest of us, a child of adversity, and I 
suppose has been long familiar with sorrow.” 

“ Why do you think so?” asked Braxton. “Has she 
made you acquainted with any circumstances to justify 
such a supposition ? Has she placed you in the way of 
your old vocation and made you her confessor ?” 

“Alas!” said the old man, “I seek not for the exercise 
of such an office now. I suffer the wounded spirit to con- 


OR, WHAT A FAR3IER CAN DO. 


249 


fess to Him alone who can fully understand and relieve 
the human heart. But it is not necessary that sorrow 
should always make a confession in order to be discovered. 
There are a thousand signs of grief which, like the vary- 
ing tints that color the countenance, give unmistakable 
evidence of the state of health within. A single glance 
of the eye may sometimes unfold a tale of woo'with as 
much clearness as if it was written with elegance and 
minuteness in a book.” 

“And these signs you have read and understood in the 
person and countenance of your guest there ?” observed 
Braxton. “ I could hardly suppose you would have dis- 
covered so mucin” 

“ I have discovered nothing from her person,” said his 
companion, “little from her conversation, and still less 
from her countenance. She seems seldom disposed to 
talk, and keeps her face veiled so closely that not much 
can be gleaned from that quarter. And yet I am not 
without my fears for the young lady. Whatever may be 
her hopes or prospects in life, I can hardly think that she 
is happy.” 

Braxton did not pretend to sift the knowledge of his 
host any further. He inferred from the conversation he 
had just held with him that whatever that individual 
might have been able to learn from Agnes herself, he had 
at least been told more about her by Captain Lamberton 
than he was willing to discover. Braxton half suspected 
that a scheme was in operation to coerce Agnes into meas- 
ures to which her calm consent and acquiescence would 
never be gained. To meet this scheme, and to defeat it, 
he was in a great measure prepared, and had just been 
sounding the old padre for the same purpose ; but he 
would rather, if possible, that its final prosecution should 
be delayed somewhat longer. How far his host had made 
himself accessory to the purposes of Captain Lamberton 
he could not tell, but he had every reason to believe, from 
the knowledge he possessed of his character, from the sen- 
timents he had just uttered, and from the little advantage 
he could hope or desire to r-ealize in his old days from the 
rewards of iniquity, that he would not willingly give his 
consent to any measure that he knew was calculated to do 
a serious injury to his guest. Under these circumstances 


250 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


Braxton was induced calmly to wait the issue of a state of 
things which he had been some time watching with the 
most earnest vigilance, and which he knew was about to 
terminate in a manner that would prove of the utmost 
consequence to the principal parties concerned. 


CHAPTER XL. 

Blakely and Maxwell, the two men who had been em- 
ployed by Captain Lamberton as a guard to watch the 
treasure deposited in his fortified bank at San Francisco, 
and who had accompanied Agnes in the carriage which 
conveyed her to the mission of Dolores, took their de- 
parture early in the morning after having arrived at that 
station. Braxton was persuaded that Captain Lamberton 
had some other object in view than merely to employ 
these men as sentinels over a weak and defenseless girl, 
and in this opinion he was confirmed by seeing them de- 
part in a different direction from that which had brought 
them to Dolores. They took their course immediately to- 
ward the solitary ranche or public house on the roadside 
where, as our readers will recollect, they lodged with 
Percy Courtland, under the same roof, at the time he was 
employed in conveying the treasure from Sacramento City 
to San Francisco. As soon as they arrived at this house 
they called for whisky, and commenced drinking. The 
result, of course, was what is uniformly experienced on all 
similar occasions. In a short time they became heated 
with liquor, and they began to talk at a most furious rate. 

'' Saunders !” said Blakely, addressing himself to the 
landlord, “ you are as ignorant of the right way of living 
in this blasted hole you inhabit as you are of the passes 
loading through the Rocky Mountains. Your trade is as 
beggarly as that of the old padre at the mission yonder, 
whose beans and potatoes are the only staple articles of 
commerce on which he can depend for a livelihood, the one 
half of which he gives away, and the other half of which 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


251 


rot in the ground for lack of some one to take care of 
them.” 

“And yet, Martin Blakely,” answered the host, “you 
know well enough that I occasionally meet with some 
good returns from my customers. There is Captain Lam- 
berton, for instance. He pays twenty shillings in the 
pound for a little hocus-pocus, the first cost of which stood 
me just nothing at all.” 

“Nothing but the wear and tear of a damaged con- 
science, which you brought with you from the City of New 
York,” said the other, “and which has now grown so 
utterly reckless that I am afraid at the next application 
it will have fallen more than fifty per cent, in the market. 
Now, Saunders, I am for sustaining the respectability of 
the guild, as they call it — that is, I go in for the dignity, 
— ay, the dignity, mind you, — of the profession. Cap- 
tain Lamberton employs us to assist him in accomplishing 
his high-handed schemes of villainy, and to watch the 
heaps of yellow dust' which he buys in at a price below 
par. Is it not right that, as members of the firm, we 
should come in for an equal share of the profits ?” 

“ Doubtless, we must look at the equity of the thing, 
Martin,” rejoined Saunders. “ But I have already told 
you that I thought Captain Lamberton was vastly gen- 
erous. What special work have you done for him without 
being paid for it ?” 

“Ay, what special work, indeed? for thaCs the ques- 
tion,” answered Blakely. “ Have we not been his tools — 
his instruments, as I may say? Answer that, Beuben 
Maxwell. Have we not helped him to lock up and im- 
prison — which I say it was a burning shame to do — two 
helpless girls, who, because they were friendless, Saun- 
ders, and had no person to stand up in their defense, he 
fairly kidnapped, as if they were no better than the thiev- 
ing savages who carry off our property ? Have we not, 
moreover, been engaged, under his particular instructions, 
in transporting these poor creatures round the country, 
and in keeping a young man in close confinement, on a 
charge which, if it were not, Saunders, for our damaged 
consciences, you and I might say has no truth in it ?” 

“And have we not, moreover,” rejoined the other con- 
federate, “combined with you, Mr. Saunders, under this 


252 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


very roof, to fasten a low and disgraceful crime on another 
individual for no other reason than merely because Cap- 
tain Lamberton is pleased to have it so, and finds it 
necessary in order to complete his general scheme of vil 
lainy? Why, look you, boys, these are services which a 
vigilant police would register as coming from rogues of a 
high order, and who deserved to fill a large space in the 
eyes of the community.” 

“ Yes, Saunders !” exclaimed Blakely, “ Reuben is right. 
Our professional skill is everything. In a country like this 
it ought to meet with its reward.” 

“ Why, that is just what I have said,” answered 
Saunders. “ I hope your employer has not been wanting 
in liberality.” 

“Wanting in liberality?” answered Blakely. “Why, 
no ! It would be wrong to say that he has not some sense 
at least of our merits. But he sets us down as vulgar — 
he does not know how to value us by strict measure ac- 
cording to our accomplishments. And in a case so truly 
vexatious and disheartening as this — in a case, Saunders, 
where you know you are wronged, despised, imposed upon 
— where you are not treated like a gentleman — why, what 
is, to be done, sir ?” 

“ I know of but one remedy,” observed Saunders, “and 
that is to strike for higher Avages.” 

“To strike for higher wages!” exclaimed Blakely. 
“Ah, my'dear fellow, I know a trick worth two of that. 
Y^'ours is but a clumsy contrivance of the shabby mechanic 
— a contrivance by Avhich he bites off his own nose to save 
his face. It would be better to command higher wages, 
Saunders. I say to command higher wages.” 

“And how may that be done, I pray, Mr. Blakely?” 
returned Mr. Saunders. “ If in your language to com- 
mand means to compel, I am greatly at a loss to know how 
you would accomplish your purpose.” 

“ Explain it to him, at once,” cried Maxwell, “ and don’t 
be bobbing round him as if you were angling for a trout in 
troubled waters. See here, Saunders ” 

“ Hush, now ! do hush 1” exclaimed Blakely. “ Let me 
alone, Reuben I Do you take, Saunders ? I say do 3^ou 
understand what I mean when I say we must command 
higher wages ?” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


253 


“I am not sure that I do,” returned Saunders. “ Per- 
haps you can make your meaning plainer.” 

“ Exactly so,” said Blakely. “ Then there it is — there, 
I say, is the evidence of my authority — the fruits of my 
command — the golden harvest of my own will.” 

So saying he threw down several valuable pieces of 
bullion, which altogether would have amounted to a sum 
of no inconsiderable magnitude. 

“ Do you see that, Saunders?” he continued. “ That is 
a part of the legitimate spoils deposited in the strong vaults 
of Captain Lamberton, — that is, of Captain Lamberton and 
others, the present company included. We all belong to 
that company, and we all have a right to enjoy the spoils. 
Do you understand me now, Saunders ?” 

“I am afraid I do,” replied the landlord, ‘‘and only 
wonder how you will attempt to justify your conduct.” 

“Haven’t I explained that already?” said Blakely. 
“We took it as partners — as share-holders — as men who 
had been placed to guard the spoils — to fight for them, if 
necessary, and to sufter for them. Beuben and I took our 
part of the plunder, and there is an end of it. He can ex- 
plain. Now let us take another drink.” 

Here a short pause took place in this remarkable con- 
versation, during which our old acquaintance, Mr. Stanley, 
with his daughter Letitia hanging on his arm, entered the 
apartment. 

“ I have taken the liberty to attend to my own horse,” 
said Mr. Stanley to the landlord, “ and have been some 
time engaged at the outside of the house in loosing him 
from the harness, and placing him at pasture. Will you 
have the goodness to show us into another room ?” 

The landlord conducted Mr. Stanley and his daughter 
into the only othei; apartment which belonged to the lower 
story of . the building, after which he passed out of the 
house, and went round to the spot where that gentleman 
had confined his horse. He started a little when he ob- 
served the exact position his newly-arrived guest must 
have occupied while he was engaged in these preliminary 
arrangements before entering the inn, He was persuaded' 
that in all probability he had stood throughout the whole 
time near an open window which looked out from the room 
where the conversation we have narrated had just taken 

22 


254 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


place, and close to which the three men were incautiously 
stationed during the period they were engaged in speak- 
ing. He trembled when he thought with what force and 
vehemence they had expressed themselves, and how likely 
it was that Mr. Stanley had overheard every word that 
was uttered on the occasion. 

The landlord’s fears were not without foundation. As 
soon as Mr. Stanley found himself alone with his daughter 
he proceeded to address her in the following language : 

“ This house presents a very forbidding appearance, my 
dear, and the conversation we have just overheard fills my 
mind with terror and apprehension. The men iu the other 
room must be little better than outlaws and ruffians. They 
did not distinctly define the business in which they are en- 
gaged, or the employments which have recently occupied 
their minds, but they said enough to alarm my imagina- 
tion with the most painful forebodings. I shudder at the 
danger of poor Miss Russell and her companion. And 
then to think that the man from whom this danger is to be 
apprehended is Captain Lamberton, the very person whom 
we have been invited to meet to-day as a friend and com- 
panion, and whom we have regarded in this community 
as an upright and respectable member of society. Good 
God ! is it possible that this world contains so much base- 
ness and duplicity?” 

‘‘Perhaps, after all,” answered his daughter, “your 
alarm may be premature. These men no doubt are bad 
enough, but for that very reason they may have causelessly 
and maliciously become the slanderers of Captain Lam- 
berton. And so far as regards Miss Russell, they have 
not even mentioned her name. The females alluded to 
by them may be altogether different persons from those 
we supposed. 

“I wish I could think so,” said her father. “ But you 
know that rumors have reached our ears for some time 
past of a nature that only go to confirm these suspicions. 
Every day the evidence seems to be growing stronger 
that poor Agnes is involved in some strange distress with 
which Captain Lamberton seems to be intimately con- 
nected. From reports, too, which have reached our ears 
during the last three or four days, and which the conversa- 
tion of these fearful men would only seem to render more 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


255 


alarming, there is too much reason to believe that her 
brother is in some way or other involved in the same diffi- 
culties.” 

“And yet T hope that these uncertain conjectures may 
turn out to be unfounded at last,” said Miss Stanley. 

“I hope so too,” replied her father. “And we must 
look for a solution of our doubts to circumstances that will 
soon unfold themselves. In the mean time let us hasten 
from this disagreeable place — these terrific men — as soon 
as possible. I am just as anxious to escape from hence as I 
am to know why we should have been sent for by Captain 
Lamberton.” 

In accordance with this determination, as soon as his 
horse had done feeding, Mr. Stanley had him again at- 
tached to the carriage in which they were traveling, and 
he and his daughter rode away together toward the mis- 
sion of Dolores. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

“The perplexing drama,” said Captain Lamberton to 
himself, as he paced a little antechamber fronting the old 
decayed building that stood on the mission ground, — “ the 
perplexing drama, whose incidents and characters I have 
endeavored to mould to my own wishes, is about to ter- 
minate, but as yet with no certainty as to the final issue. I 
wish I could understand its closing scenes a little more 
clearly. I am no coward, and do not seek to become 
alarmed at the uncertain shadows which after all may be 
but the creations of my own troubled fancy, but I cannot 
help wishing that the whole performance was fairly over. 
This very morning I have heard of rumors that might 
startle a man of stronger nerves than my own. Young 
Courtland is said to be at large. Blakely and Maxwell, 
it is hinted, have in their fits of intoxication openly avowed 
their hostility to my interests, and have even gone so far 
as to plunder the treasure that was placed under their 
charge. The boy Fairview does not hesitate to assail my 
character in terms the most bitter and offensive, and I am 


256 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


told has talked of calling me to an account before the Com- 
mittee for the part I have acted toward Agnes Russell.” 
Then, after a short pause, he continued : “ But she is safe 
— is safe under this very roof — and I think I may count 
with certainty on the unshaken fidelity of Braxton. If I 
can but continue to command the services of this individ- 
ual, his influence must either change altogether from what 
it has been, or it will go far to overrule the disorders which 
threaten me with such serious mischief. And yet some- 
how or other I feel as if I was surrounded by the most 
fearful dangers — as if I was standing on the brink of a 
terrible precipice, ready to be swept into the awful chasm 
that is yawning beneath me. I cannot tell how it is that 
I am so easily alarmed by the slightest apprehension of 
evil. I sometimes almost wish that I could unravel the 
web that I have so blindly, perhaps so wickedly, woven 
for others, but into which my own feet seem about to be 
entangled. But still I do not feel as if my first purpose 
originated altogether in a corrupt heart. I have been led 
on from step to step, until my confirmed selfishness has 
fallen a prey to temptation. How then ? Shall I return ? 
Alas ! I find it is as difficult to retrace my steps as to go 
forward. The war that is so hotly carried on in my own 
mind is wasting and consuming me. I am a miserable 
man — perhaps I am a more miserable transgressor, for it 
is written that the way of the transgressor is hard. But I 
said I was no coward, and yet these gloomy reflections 
must be the effect of some kind of weakness. I will try 
to overcome it.” Then hastily opening the door of the 
little apartment in which he had been promenading, and 
raising his voice, he exclaimed, “Padre! my good padre! 
I wish to see you a moment.” 

The old man came, and bowed low to Captain Lamber- 
ton, whose arrival at the mission had taken place about 
an hour before. 

“Have you prepared the young lady for my coming?” 
said the captain, with some marks of uneasiness in his 
countenance. “ Have you made known to her the circum- 
stances about which 1 conversed with you when I was 
last here, and has she agreed to comply with my wishes?” 

“ The young lady will not be talked to,” said the padre 
in return. “ She is melancholy and silent, and I am afraid 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


25t 


is very much afflicted. At any rate, whatever may be the 
cause, she declines answering any of my questions, and 
prefers communing with her own thoughts.” 

“ Did you press home to her, my dear padre, the danger 
to which she is exposed — the punishment and disgrace 
which await her friends — the loneliness and destitution of 
her own condition — if she should continue to remain ob- 
stinate ?” 

“ I have set it all before her in as strong language as I 
could,” said the old man, “ but with, no more effect than if 
I had been appealing to yonder solid mountain.” 

“Did you tell her,” said Lamberton, raising his voice, 
and assuming an attitude of authority, “that I must be 
obeyed, and that she would offend both you and me if she 
attempted merely to consult her own wishes on the sub- 
ject ?” 

“No, Captain Lamberton I” answered the pious con- 
fessor, “that I did not say, and would not say for the 
world. I left her at liberty to consult her own feelings in 
a matter that so intimately concerned her own happiness. 
It would be unreasonable that either she or I should be 
compelled to favor the views of another person in oppo- 
sition to the sentiments of our own free choice and ap- 
proval.” 

“Ay I ay!” exclaimed the captain, choking with rage 
and vexation, and scarcely knowing what he said, “ then 
you, too, are a traitor ! But I have done with you. Go 
to the old summer-house yonder, and tell Braxton I wish 
to see him immediately.” 

The old man followed the instructions he had received, 
and Braxton was prompt in obeying the summons. 

“ It is on you, my dear Braxton,” said the captain, 
“that I must depend alone, I believe, for consolation and 
assistance under my present difficulties. Beports, I am 
sorry to say, are in circulation to-day not a little calcu- 
lated to alarm my fears, and fill my mind with the most 
disagreeable apprehensions. Blakely and Maxwell, in 
whom I placed almost implicit confidence, have succeeded, 
it is supposed, in plundering the property confided to their 
keeping. Courtland has made his escape, in all proba- 
bility through the connivance of these very rogues who 
have run away with the plunder. Molton Fairview, as I 

22 * 


258 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


have been told, has not only abandoned my interests, but 
has become my bitter enemy, and threatens to expose me 
to the Committee. Even the old padre here has turned 
toward me a cold shoulder. But all this will only serve 
to set off your own faithfulness to greater advantage — 
nay, it will give you the opportunity of more successfully 
exercising those remarkable talents which you have so 
long devoted to my service. It will be necessary, how- 
ever, to proceed with great caution at present. Blakely 
and Maxwell must be suffered to run at large until we shall 
have made use of them before the Committee as witnesses. 
Wb may easily have them arrested for larceny afterward. 
But their testimony will be strong on the subject of Court- 
land’s breach of trust, and will have a powerful effect with- 
out requiring them to commit downright perjury. Your 
own deposition in regard to the amount of gold received at 
the bank will go far to corroborate and confirm the state- 
ment. It may be, however, that none of this testimony 
will be wanted. And now let me ask you how far you 
have brought this stubborn girl to Jisten to reason ? Has 
she agreed to accede to the terms I have proposed — or is 
she obstinately bent on involving herself and her friends 
in ruin ?” 

“ I can hardly return a satisfactory answer to your ques- 
tion,” said Braxton. “ The old padre, since my arrival 
here, has appropriated her company to himself during the 
greater part of the time, and uniformly declared to me 
that she continued unyielding and inflexible — or what I 
regarded as the same thing, that she remained obstinately 
silent. Under these circumstances, I thought it better not 
to interfere, especially as I was told that she preferred 
being left alone in her apartment.” 

“Nay, my dear Braxton,” said Lamberton, “you surely 
then did not act with your usual energy and wisdom. 
You should have insisted on seeing her. But go now and 
use your utmost endeavors to bring this perverse creature 
to reflection and reason. Tell her that but one single 
hour yet remains for deliberation, and that on the conclu- 
sion she shall see proper to come to during that time must 
depend her future happiness or misery. Give her to know 
that Stanley is on the way, and may probably arrive within 
the next half hour. You understand me.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


259 


. “ Bravely !” replied Braxton, “and I will take care that 
Miss Russell shall understand you equally with myself.” 

Braxton had withdrawn but a short time before Mr. 
Stanley and his daughter arrived at Dolores. They were 
ushered into the apartment intended for the accommoda- 
tion of strangers by Captain Lamberton himself, and were 
soon apprised of the motives which had induced that gen- 
tleman to summon them on a visit to the mission. 

“ In the present unsettled and unimproved state of 
society in this country,” said Captain Lamberton, “ it is 
impossible, even in regard to objects of the highest in- 
terest, that we should stand much on form or ceremony. 
Besides, you know, Mr. Stanley, that I have always been 
a man of but few words, and have aimed at accomplishing 
my purposes by the simplest and most direct means. Per- 
mit me, therefore, to inform you, on the present occasion, 
without any further preliminary remarks, that I am about 
to enter into a union with a young lady who is now in 
this house, and that I desire you will at once officiate at 
the marriage ceremony.” 

“ Most certainly I shall take great pleasure in comply- 
ing with your wishes,” returned Mr. Stanley, “provided 
the young lady herself is willing, and joins with you in 
making the same request.” 

“ Of course,” answered Captain Lamberton, “a measure 
of such delicacy and importance could not be solemnized 
without her consent. But here comes one whose assur- 
ance 1 hope will satisfy you on that score.” 

At that moment Braxton returned from performing the 
visit he had undertaken at the instance of Lamberton, and 
entered into the apartment where Mr. Stanley and his 
daughter were now assembled. After saluting these indi- 
viduals, with whom he had previously formed some ac- 
quaintance in the City of San Francisco, he was addressed 
by the captain, and requested to say what answer Miss 
Russell saw proper to return to the message of which he 
had been the bearer. 

Although Mr. Stanley had already become sufficiently 
alarmed, and had, in his own mind, fixed on Agnes Rus- 
sell as tlie person with whom Captain Lamberton was de- 
sirous of forming this union, yet the moment her name 
was plainly mentioned hedooked with great concern at his 


260 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


daughter, whose anxiety and embarrassment were as truly 
depicted in her own countenance. 

“ It is even so, then,” said Mr. Stanley, after a moment’s 
pause, that Miss Russell is the young lady with whom 
you expect to enter into this important engagement ?” 

“Yes,” replied Captain Lamberton, “Miss Russell is 
that young lady, and as she has had some previous ac- 
quaintance with your daughter, I hope that Letitia will 
give her free consent to wait on her on the present occa- 
sion.” 

“ There can be no objection to that, I suppose,” said 
Mr. Stanley, “provided everything else is found to be 
right. But it appears you sent Miss Russell a message. 
Let Mr. Braxton communicate to us her answer.” 

“ It is contained in a very few words,” rejoined Braxton. 
“ She desires to be left alone, or if that cannot be, she pre- 
fers appearing before Captain Lamberton and answering 
for herself.” 

“Then let her be brought at once,” said Lamberton. 
“ Her scruples and doubts ma}^ be easily removed. But stop 
— it will be better that Miss Stanley should wait on her this 
time. Ho you, miss, repair to her apartment. Tell her we 
are ready to receive her, and be sure to bring her with you.” 

Letitia Stanley, of course, felt no little concern for her 
friend, and was indeed anxious to receive an explanation 
of this sudden and mysterious business from her own lips. 
She readily, therefore, listened to the suggestions made by 
Captain Lamberton, and was prompt in seeking an inter- 
view with Agnes agreeably to his instructions. 

In the mean time the padre was again sent for, in order, 
perhaps, that he might become a witness to the ceremony 
which Captain Lamberton was so desirous should take 
place, rather than from any feeling of attachment or es- 
teem which that gentleman felt for a man who had so un- 
expectedly asserted his own independence in his presence. 
Another person who helped to swell the number of wit- 
nesses on this occasion, was the simple old woman who 
had been appointed to wait on Agnes and her companion 
during their hateful confinement in the apartments pro- 
vided for them in San Francisco, and who, in all proba- 
bility, had been made to accompany Captain Lamberton 
for the purpose of waiting again on Agnes after she 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


261 


should be coerced into a measure which was still more 
hateful to her than the confinement from which she had 
escaped a few days before. 

It was not long before the two females made their ap- 
pearance, Letitia leading in her companion with a some- 
what brighter countenance than she wore when she first 
set out on her errand, and the latter being so closely veiled 
that it was impossible to distinguish a single feature by 
which the identity of her person could be established. 

“ You are here. Miss Russell,” said Captain Lamberton, 
addressing the figure that was concealed with so much 
care, and which now seemed to stand with perfect com- 
posure before him — “ you are here agreeably to your own 
wishes to answer for yourself. Nothing could aff“ord me 
more satisfaction than to see you thus willing to enter into 
an engagement which your voluntary appearance on this 
occasion sanctions, and your heart no doubt as freely ap- 
proves. Are you willing that the ceremony, on account 
of which these persons have assembled here to-day, shall 
proceed 

By all means,” answered the person addressed, “ if that 
alone is the condition on which Agnes Russell can enjoy 
peace and liberty at the hands of Captain Lamberton. But, 
thank God, that is not the condition now !” she exclaimed, 
dropping her veil, and exhibiting to the astonished specta- 
tors the person of the affectionate and devoted servant-girl, 
Maggy. “I am free,. Captain Lamberton,” she continued, 
“ and so is Agnes Russell !” 

Lamberton recoiled from the shock he had received with 
an aching and almost fainting heart. So great was his 
astonishment that for a moment he found it impossible to 
utter a single word. He was thunder- struck and bewil- 
dered by an occurrence so sudden and unexpected. At 
length he exclaimed in language that betrayed his own 
desperation, — 

“ Be gone ! This miserable scheme was not contrived 
by yourself. By all that is sacred the author of it shall 
answer to me for his treachery ! Gentlemen, leave me — 
all but Braxton !” 

The request so warmly uttered was instantly obeyed, 
and Braxton and Lamberton were left standing face to face 
in the same apartment. 


262 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


It is very certain that the author of the scheme in which 
Maggy had acted such a conspicuous part, and to which 
Lamberton made such strong and emphatic allusion, was 
meant for Braxton — that same Braxton who had served 
him so faithfully under circumstances that offended his 
own feelings and judgment — who had entered his service 
as Billy Braxton, the buffoon and loafer of the neighbor- 
hood of Coiirtland Hall, who grew useful and respectable 
in his employment as William Braxton of the City of New 
York, and who afterward became more intimately con- 
nected with him as his chief agent in the transaction of 
much important business in California. Lamberton knew 
and felt all this the instant he uttered the threat we have 
recorded above ; and before the parties whom he had re- 
quested to withdraw had fairly got out of hearing, his 
mind began to falter in regard to the course he was about 
to pursue. But for his fears of being wrong he might in- 
deed have attempted to chastise Braxton on the spot, or at 
least have charged him boldly with what he believed to 
be his deceit and treachery. The expediency of such a 
course, however, he was led to doubt on a mornenCs re- 
flection. As soon therefore as he found himself alone with 
Braxton, he glared on him like a hyena or panther, but 
said nothing. Then walking abruptly across the apart- 
ment, it seemed to require all his resolution to suppress 
the resentment he felt disposed to utter. Again he ap- 
proached his supposed antagonist, and again he retreated 
from him to a considerable distance. At last he ex- 
claimed, — 

“ Braxton, I am wretched — I am miserable ! I don’t 
know how it is, but I have lost faith in the world, in my 
nearest friends, in myself, in you — all seems fearful, dark, 
and frowning. This heart of mine does not beat as it 
once did — this head of mine does not think as it once did 
. — my whole system is terribly shattered and disordered. 
And, oh, what a sense of shame and dishonor presses on 
my spirits, so that I often feel disposed to fly from myself, 
and to despise the folly and weakness of my own char- 
racter I Surely I was once a better man than I am now — 
I was more innocent and more happy. Or may it not be 
that I was more light of heart — that I was younger, and 
enjoyed more of the sunshine of youth and of life ? No, no ! 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 263 

Braxton ! I will not believe that I am one of the worst 
men in society. I am, it is true, determined in my plans, 
but only for the purpose of accomplishing a good end. You 
know what I mean, Braxton. I am indeed selfish, but not 
more selfish than other men.” 

“ If you are no worse than other men,” said Braxton, 
‘'then you ought to be no more unhappy.” 

“ You are right,” he replied ; “ and I hope you will find 
hereafter that I am not more unhappy. But you must 
remain my friend, Braxton. This girl may still be con- 
quered. It will not do to give her up yet. I know that so 
long as she does not find her brother she will continue to 
remain in this country. Meet me at Sacramento City, for 
it is there my schemes must have their final and complete 
accomplishment.” 

We must not suppose that Braxton at any time viewed 
Lamberton’s conduct, when he came properly to under- 
stand it, with unconcern and iiidiflference. But that in- 
dividual was not fully apprised of the captain’s schemes, 
although he had been made accessory against his will to 
carrying them on, until almost the last moment before 
they left the City'of New York; and when they arrived in 
California he became too well acquainted with the influ- 
ence Lamberton was able to exercise there, particularly 
with the Grand Committee who were about to assemble at 
Sacramento City, to attempt to interfere for the rescue of 
Agnes until he himself had so far matured his own plans 
as to be able to counteract those of that gentleman. How 
far this was brought about will be seen in the sequel. In 
the mean time let it be remembered also that Braxton made 
some important communications to Mr. Marshfield, which 
in all probability would have been the means of protecting 
Agnes and her companion had not that gentleman unfor- 
tunately died on his passage to California. 

When Captain Lamberton and Braxton separated, the 
latter continued to remain in the apartment they had occu- 
pied, which was shortly after entered by Mr. Stanley. 

“We meet with many things in this world to surprise 
and alarm us,” said Stanley, “but I think I was never 
more sorely distressed and puzzled than I have been by 
the disclosures that were made to us this morning. It was 
long ago observed by the ancient world, that whom the 


264 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


gods intend to destroy they first make mad. The truth of 
this remark will hold equally good in modern times if, in- 
stead of the word gods, we substitute the more familiar 
and appropriate term, evil spirits. Surely Captain Lam- 
berton is laboring under a degree of madness, the source 
of which can only be looked for in the infernal regions. I 
had met with some rumors of his absurd conduct before, 
but I never expected to hear him confess himself a de- 
termined and reckless madman, as he has so strangely 
done this morning. And then it would seem that, not 
satisfied with the failure of his purposes, he is determined 
to prosecute his schemes of mischief in a manner cal- 
culated to render him still more ridiculous. He would 
appear to be driven by his evil genius to perfect despera- 
tion, and like all madmen it is necessary that we should 
set a watch over his conduct. Although we may hope 
that he will not finally succeed in his insane projects, 3’'et 
it may be well to restrain him as far as possible from the 
commission of those intermediate acts of mischief, which 
otherwise might fall with dreadful force on the heads of 
the defenseless and innocent.” 

“We have taken such measures,” answered Braxton, 
“ as will be most likely to counteract his schemes of vil- 
lainy. But, as you say, he must be watched, and we can- 
not be too diligent in our endeavors to oppose his wicked- 
ness. Let me beg of you, therefore, Mr. Stanley, to repair 
at once to Sacramento City, in order that you may be one 
of the first to meet at that place with the Grand Committee, 
and prepare their minds for what may be expected to fol- 
low. Leave the rest to me. His design is to compel her 
to yield to his wishes, by attacking the characters of those 
whom she most loves and esteems. But this I trust may 
be prevented, if we are but energetic and prudent in using 
the means within our power. And now farewell till I meet 
3mu before the Committee.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO, 


265 


CHAPTER XLII. 

It was raining, and the copious showers that fell from 
the clouds streamed again in torrents from the caves and 
dark ravines of the precipitous hills that formed a portion 
of the Mokelumne mines. It continued to rain incessantly, 
so that the sky above, as well as the earth beneath, seemed 
to be hid in a deluge of' water, like that which we may 
suppose constituted the beginning of the ancient flood. 
Two individuals were sitting at the base of one of these 
hills, exposed to the peltings of the pitiless storm, but with- 
out appearing to be affected by the uproar around them 
any farther than to aim at gaining a somewhat more rising 
piece of ground, in order that they might escape the in- 
creasing inundation which seemed to be gaining on them 
in every direction. One of these persons was a good deal 
younger than the other, but both presented the same marks 
of gloom and disorder in their countenances, like the dark 
clouds above them, which seemed to sympathize in their 
sorrows and misfortunes. Their outward persons were 
drenched to the skin, but their inward spirits were steeped 
in a still greater depth of wretchedness and misery. 

“You and I, young man,” said the elder of these per- 
sons to the other, “ seem to have been destined to an equal 
share of bad fortune in this inhospitable country. It is 
somewhat remarkable that our adventures have been so 
much alike, and have savored in a great measure of a pe- 
culiar character. Like the rain that is falling around us, 
our discouragements have been incessant and overwhelm- 
ing. We have all along been as thoroughly drenched by 
our bad luck as we have this day been drenched by the 
rain.” 

“ Why, yes,” observed the other ; “ I think we have both 
been fully well paid up for the blindness and presumption 
of our conduct, — you for abandoning an amiable wife and 
children, and I for running away from my parents and 
brother.” 


23 


266 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


“ And yet,” replied his companion, “ we might bear it 
all, and might even bear it cheerfully, too, had we not been 
exposed to the loss of our good names as well as of our 
good condition in the world.” 

“ True ! true !” cried the younger, “ that may certainly be 
considered as the severest stroke of all. Gracious God ! 
what a fool I have been ! Once so safe, so blest, so happy ! 
So beloved by parents and friends ; so esteemed by the 
world! In the enjoyment of the pur est pleasures of life, 
I had the prospect of lasting felicity before me. But 
now I suffer under a gloomy future and a blasted name, 
and without the power of effecting the least change ! Oh, 
if I could but arise like the prodigal son, — could but cease 
feeding on the miserable husks that have fallen to my lot 
here, — how willingly would I return again to my father’s 
house, and there learn obedience from the past, and seek 
for encouragement and hope from the future !” 

“Alas!” cried the elder of the two, “the misery you 
describe in such warm language may be great, but in what 
way will it compare with the misery of a husband and a 
father ? Your heart, indeed, is young and tender, but has 
yet to learn the holy sympathy of conjugal attachment, — 
the soft affection of parental love. When the endearing 
ties that bind these feelings to their objects are sundered, 
where, in any other part of this wide world, can we look 
for consolation ? ' AVhen the polar star ceases to shine, by 
what light may we seek to steer our frail bark over the 
stormy ocean ? When the center of attraction is gone, 
how may w^e escape the confusion and misery of a disor- 
dered motion ? No, young man ! your spirit may be bur- 
dened and sad, but it can never feel like the heart of a 
husband and father; it can never know the tender concern, 
the exquisite anguish of parental solicitude. And even if 
it could for a season realize an emotion so sacred and so 
solemn, — if it could rise with a temporary fervor to the 
experience of a bliss or sorrow so strong and ecstatic, — 
how soon would its sensations be deadened again by the 
pursuit of w^orldly baubles and ever-varying frivolity ! 
Your bosom may be filled with emotion to-day, but a thou- 
sand new thoughts and new pleasures may arise to dampen 
and destroy its feelings to-morrow.” 

“ What you now say may be true,” rejoined the younger 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


26 t 


sufferer, “ and yet there may be sufficient reasons, too, to 
doubt the soundness of your homily. We all know how 
each individual of mankind is apt to think his own fortune 
worse than that of his neighbor, and his own sufferings 
greater than those of all the world beside. But let us cease 
discussing a subject from which neither of us can derive 
much benefit. It is not absolutely necessary that we should 
make ourselves acquainted with the sorrows of others, but 
it is of the utmost consequence that we should learn how to 
bear our own. The ability to do so I think we have the 
power to acquire, just as we have learned how to endure this 
terrible rain without the least murmur or complaint. And 
yet I must confess that I would sooner enjoy with you 
some more comfortable spot than this, and therefore sug- 
gest the propriety of seeking shelter together in our tent.” 

The white tents erected for the miners could be seen at 
a distance, stretched out on a level plain, but at that mo- 
ment affording but an insecure protection to their inmates 
on account of the furious storm without, and consequent 
inundation. Thither, however, the two weather-beaten 
and, as it would seem, heart-stricken adventurers directed 
their steps. They entered one of the tents, which, owing 
to its being placed on a rising eminence, seemed to be bet- 
ter se'cured against the elements than the rest. 

“ Welcome, Percy, my boy!” exclaimed a rough voice, 
as soon as the younger of the two individuals had entered 
the tent, — “welcome to the safest retreat that can be found 
in these diggings. What a comfortable thing it is to be 
in possession of a clever shelter from the weather! You 
would have passed us but for that advantage, and would 
have slunk away to your own hole to pour upon the mud 
that bubbles by, or perhaps to ruminate on the probable 
chances of contracting a tertian ague. And here, too, is 
our friend Horace Baldwin. Come in, Horace, and repose 
awhile from the fury of the enraged tempest without. Why, 
by all that is wonderful, our tent is honored to-day by two 
of the most remarkable men in California, — one of whom 
escaped the vengeance of an infuriated mob, and the other 
the confinement of a private prison, — two of the worst foes, 
as we all know, to the peace and happiness of California 
society. Come in, and let me introduce you to my brave 
associates. Here’s Molton Fair view, the young baby who 


268 


HENRY COURT LAND; 


is always crying after his mother, but whose luck has taken 
a remarkable turn lately, perhaps on that very account. I 
forgot, however, that he was your good angel when you 
were on the point of being murdered, and that he saved 
you, in the last extremity, from the vox populi. And here’s 
Martin Blakely and Reuben Maxwell, with whom I have 
just been taking a game at all-fours You know, Horace, 
the mines are flooded, and for the present our occupation’s 
gone. So we are compelled to seek for employment in 
whatever company and in whatever place we may be able 
to find it. Come in, sir, come in, and show that you have 
sense enough to get out of the rain 1” 

The reader will understand from the above harangue, 
delivered with so much life and spirit, that one of the per- 
sons we had just before introduced to his notice was none 
other than our good friend, Percy Courtland, and the other, 
that unfortunate individual whom the mob at one time, in 
San Francisco, was about to offer up, if not on the altar of 
Themis, at least on the gibbet of Lynch-law, which to them 
was precisely the same thing. Nor, perhaps, would he be 
long in guessing that the kind creature, who gave them 
such a warm and hearty welcome, was Darsie Hopkins, 
the honest reveler, who on a former occasion was so lavish 
in providing a feast for the same Percy Courtland and Mol- 
ton Fairview. 

Percy was at first somewhat astonished to find that his 
fellow-adventurers among the placers of California had 
entered into such familiar companionship with the two sus- 
picious-looking men whom he had met at the public inn on 
the roadside a few weeks before, and whom he afterward 
saw standing guard at the fortified citadel in San Francisco. 
In a few moments, however, he received a satisfactory ex- 
planation of their conduct. Molton Fairview led him and 
Baldwin back to a little apartment or recess, formed in the 
rear of the tent, and communicated to them the following 
intelligence : 

“ These men,” said he, “ we have been requested to 
watch, for the purpose of making some discoveries which 
will become important topics of discussion at the approach- 
ing session of the Committee. In the mean time we have 
been intrusted with the charge of restoring to the bank in 
San Francisco the treasure which was originally committed 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


269 


to 3^our care, and so mysteriously diverted from your pos- 
session, but which has since fallen into the hands of one of 
the members of the Committee. Our instructions, derived 
from that member, have relation to a great variety of mat- 
ters, in which we must all feel a deep interest. As to you, 
Baldwin,” he continued, “ we are desired to employ you 
as a guard over the movements and conduct of Saunders, 
the landlord. Keep him in your eye, so that he may be 
produced before the Committee at any moment that may 
be required.” 

“ And so far as regards myself,” said Percy, “ I presume 
that I have no other alternative than to assume the char- 
acter of a supposed criminal, and either consider myself 
outlawed from the pale of California society, or surrender 
myself to the good pleasure of those who assert the right 
of sitting in judgment on my conduct.” 

‘‘ It is for your sake, my dear Percy,” answered Molton 
Fairview, “ and for the sake of those whom you love, and 
who love you in return, tliat the proceedings to which I 
have just adverted have been principally set on foot. Sev- 
eral of the Committee already know that it is your deter- 
mination to appear before them, and they have no doubt 
that a careful investigation of the matters alleged against 
you will establish your innocence.” 

Before Molton separated from Percy and his companion 
he gave them to understand how fortunate he had been for 
the last few weeks in prosecuting his labors among the 
mines. Although he had changed very considerably in 
appearance during that period, and was evidently becom- 
ing more manly every day, he seemed still to cherish the 
same warm affection for his mother that distinguished his 
character and conversation when we first became ac- 
quainted with him. On the present occasion he could not 
help again remarking, with all the forwardness and frank- 
ness of juvenile simplicity, “ It will be a great thing when 
I see my mother. How thankful we will be, and how 
happy !” 

When they passed to the anterior part of the tent, Percy 
found Hopkins and his two companions again deeply en- 
gaged in attending to the contingent hazards of the game 
of all -fours. He could not but notice that there was a 
considerable display' of gold on the table ; and a knowing 

23 * 


2'70 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


wink from Darsie convinceot him that there was some de- 
sign at the bottom of this profuse show of the precious 
metal, which, just at that moment, perhaps he was not at 
liberty to explain. 

In two or three days after this occurrence, Molton Fair- 
view and Darsie Hopkins called on Percy, in order to take 
leave of him at his own tent. They both urged him to 
maintain a cheerful spirit, and not to feel too much con- 
cern on account of the transactions in which he had been 
recently engaged, and in which he had been made to act such 
a strange and mysterious part. “ Jt will all come right, 
Percy,” said Hopkins. “ Not only will your own character 
be vindicated, but the character of another person, in whom 
you feel an extraordinary interest, will rise higher in your 
estimation, if possible, than it ever did before.” 

These last words of Hopkins made a deep impression 
on Percy’s mind, and, after his two friends had gone, he 
continued to reflect on them with intense interest. “ To 
whom did he allude ?” thought Percy. “ To whom could 
he allude but to Agnes Russell, that heroic girl whose fate 
seems to be so mysteriously identified with my own, and 
whom fortune has so wonderfully connected with my 
recent and extraordinary adventures in this far-distant 
country. She too, like myself, has been sorely tried from 
causes which are yet to be explained, and which it would 
seem have some relation to the approaching investigation 
which is to be instituted concerning my own character. 
Well, it is my duty, as I have been told, to cultivate a 
cheerful spirit and to exercise patience. In a few days 
more these mysteries will be cleared up, and my bosom 
be relieved from its present suspense and anxiety.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO, 


271 


CHAPTER XLIIL 

During the excited state of feeling in which the mind 
of Agnes Russell had been kept while preparing to leave 
the gloomy apartment in which she had been confined by 
Captain Lamberton, she was able so far to control and 
govern her emotions as to keep them concealed from the 
observation of Maggy, as well as from Braxton, with 
whom she had had two or three interviews a short time 
before. But the moment she reached the hotel in San 
Francisco, in the manner we have described, and found 
herself alone in the same apartment she had formerly 
occupied, she burst into tears, and gave full vent to the 
burden of grief that was preying on her distressed bosom. 
The artifice which had been resorted to for the purpose of 
exchanging places with Maggy, and substituting the per- 
son of that faithful creature for her mistress, had been 
previously concocted between them, and w^as of her own 
contrivance. Even Braxton himself had not been per- 
mitted to share their confidence and to become acquainted 
with the secret, nor did he find it out until, after reaching 
the old mission station, and becoming.' more clearly ap- 
prised of the intentions of Captain Lamberton, Miss 
Stanley was sent, as we have seen, to sound the mind of 
Agnes, and to prepare her for that interview which it was 
supposed by her tormentor was to unite their destinies in 
this world forever. The great object of this contrivance 
on the part of Agnes was that she might have an oppor- 
tunity of making further and more diligent inquiries about 
her brother. She very well knew that if she could but 
once succeed in giving him intelligence of her situation 
he would be prompt in flying to her relief, or that if she 
could not for the present accomplish more than to establish 
a correspondence with him, that of itself would be suffi- 
cient to secure her in a great measure from the cruel per- 
secution which she suffered at the hands of Captain Lam- 
berton. She did not for a moment doubt the fidelity of 


212 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


Braxton, but she inferred from hints that he had dropped 
at the time he was preparing her to leav'e for Dolores, that 
such a step as she contemplated would meet with his 
approbation. Her resolution, therefore, was taken accord- 
ingly, and the plot succeeded in the manner we have 
already mentioned above. In the mean time the landlord 
at the hotel, although he was surprised to receive the mis- 
tress instead of her maid, gave himself no concern to in- 
quire into the matter. 

Agnes had written more than one letter to her brother 
addressed to Sacramento City and to other places, but so 
far she had not received the slightest intelligence from him, 
either through the post-office or otherwise. It was matter 
of great joy to her, therefore, when she was told by the 
landlord, the very next day after she arrived at the hotel, 
that he had a letter for her, which a moment afterward he 
delivered into her own hands. She saw by the post-mark 
that it came from her brother, and on opening it found its 
contents to read as follows : 

My dear Sister: 

You may imagine my great surprise on receiving a 
letter from you dated at San Francisco. You say that 
you had written two or three times before, but I do assure 
you that this is the first communication from you that has 
reached me since my residence in California. And oh, how 
impossible it is for me to express the emotions of my mind 
on receiving this favor! Is it indeed true that you, my 
dear, dear sister, are now so near me, and that you have 
performed an errand on my account that might justly 
entitle you to be ranked among the greatest and best of 
women ? But let me not in this way attempt to utter my 
feelings or ruy thankfulness. I shall only be able to do 
so, and then but imperfectly, when after the lapse of a few 
days I shall have an opportunity of meeting you face to 
face, and folding you once more to my bosom. At present 
I am prevented from flying to you at once by an occur- 
rence over which I have no control, and which I will ex- 
plain when we meet. Till then I need hardly say with 
what strong and abiding regard I remain 

Your affectionate brother, 

Alfred. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO.- 


273 


This letter was dated some considerable time before its 
reception, and was an answer to one she had written when 
first held under duress by Captain Lamberton, and which 
Braxton had undertaken to forward for her to Sacramento 
City. The possession of this document filled her bosom 
with the most exquisite rapture. She read it over a dozen 
times. Kissed it and folded it to her bosom, and then read 
it over and folded it to her bosom again. “ I am to be 
made happy at last !” she exclaimed. “All my labors and 
sufferings are to be finally rewarded, for my brother will 
be here in a few days.’’ 

Agnes now spent her time at the hotel with a more 
quiet and cheerful spirit than she had enjoyed for weeks 
or months before, and she waited patiently for the arrival 
of that period when she should be restored again to her 
brother’s embraces, and should have accomplished the 
sacred purpose for which she had undergone so much 
labor and suffering. In the mean while Percy Courtland 
continued toiling with renewed hope and courage in the 
mines, and was looking forward with the same degree of 
patience to the time when the Committee should assemble 
in Sacramento City, and when the truth would be so far 
elicited as not only to justify his own conduct but to 
point out with certainty the course necessary for him to 
pursue in relation to Agnes herself. Until that period 
should arrive, he believed it to be his duty to remain 
where he was, although he realized as usual little more 
than disappointment and fatigue in return for his labor. 
As to Braxton, he too was busily engaged in concerting 
measures preparatory to the approaching meeting of the 
Committee, while at the same time he was in constant 
correspondence with Percy Courtland, who was greatly 
influenced by his advice and instruction. 

But many days had now passed away, and poor Agnes 
still lived in fond expectation at tlie hotel, but without re- 
ceiving the much-desired visit from her brother. It is not 
to be wondered at, therefore, that her spirits again began 
to droop. She became more and more anxious, and her 
mind was agitated with new hopes and disappointments 
at the opening of every mail. “Surely,” said she to her- 
self, “ it is but reasonable that he should have been here 
before this time. Or, if circumstances were really such as 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


2U 

to prevent him from coming, why has he not written — 
why has he not informed me in some way or other of the 
difficulties that have rendered his promised visit impracti- 
cable ? I am again becoming impatient — I am again un- 
happy !” 

It was on one of these mournful occasions — when her 
spirits were sinking — when her hopes were again forsaking 
her — that she received an unexpected visit from Captain 
Lamberton. He entered her apartment abruptly, and 
without giving her any previous notice of his coming. 
His manner appeared from the first to be singu^r — indeed 
it was almost wild and extravagant. Nor were his looks 
less remarkable than his behavior. His eyes betrayed a 
fierceness and restlessness that she had never observed 
before. His countenance was inflamed, while at the same 
time it appeared to be pale from the effects of grief and 
anxiety. But its most remarkable feature was the bitter 
scorn and wrath with which it glared upon her. 

“ I have come, Miss Russell,” said he, “ to confer with 
you for the last time. But do not think that I have come as 
a suppliant. I am not going to bow before you like a love- 
sick boy who has no manliness, and therefore has no spirit. 
My heart is still sound. Miss Russell, and my resolution is 
firm and unshaken. You once thought that I was a doting 
simpleton, — that I was a distracted fool, — that I was all 
warmth, all obedience, all devotion, and that you could 
mould my crazy fondness as you would the youthful pas- 
sion of a college student. But I tell you, proud upstart, 
that you have been mistaken. I am a man, miss, — a man 
of the world, — a man of business, — and you have injured 
me. I do not seek for vengeance, but neither do I ask for 
favor. I am too indulgent for the one, — I am too proud for 
the other. And yet I warn you not to trust me too far. 
I tell you, Miss Russell, that you have exasperated, but 
have not subdued me. And now I come to you as a man 
who will reason, but who will not yield, — as a man who 
will negotiate, and who can keep his promises without 
breaking them, but who is determined not to sue for peace. 
Ho you understand me ?” 

“ I would not be speaking the truth if I said I did,” an- 
swered Miss Russell. “Surely, Captain Lamberton, you 
are less rational than you supposed yourself to be. What 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


275 


have I to do with you as a man of business, or a man of 
tlie world, — as a weak man or a strong man ? I know of 
no contract or agreement that we can or should enter into. 
I owe you nothing, and you are equally free from any ob- 
ligations to me. All that I ask is to be let alone, — to be 
suffered to remain unmolested in my own helplessness and 
sorrow.” 

“ Yes ! yes !” returned Lamberton. “ You would have 
your own will — you would be your own mistress — you 
must not be spoken to roughly — you must be flattered and 
coaxed to do that which you ought to do at once from a 
principle of duty. Who has sought to molest or disturb 
you ? Will you say that I have done so, Miss Russell ? 
I deny the charge, — I am innocent of the offense you urge 
against me. No ! no ! proud girl ; it is you who have dis- 
turbed my own peace, — who have destroyed my own hap- 
piness ! Have I not sought to raise you from poverty to 
wealth, — from lowliness to rank and station in life ? And 
how have you attempted to reward my goodness ? Tell 
me, unfeeling creature, what gratitude have you returned 
for so much kindness on my part ?” 

“ I have done nothing that ought to offend you, Captain 
Lamberton, — nothing to injure you !” 

“Is it nothing to be repulsed!” he exclaimed, — “to be 
denied the observances of common civility, — to be treated 
with scorn and contempt, and to be imposed upon by shal- 
low artifices and vulgar disguises!” 

“ Leave me. Captain Lamberton !” she again exclaimed. 
“ If not for my sake, leave me for your own sake. This 
useless altercation but inflames your blood and increases 
your madness !” 

“ Be it so, then !” he rejoined. “ Be it so, unmannerly 
scorner ! It shall happen even as you say. Hereafter I 
will be mad as the enraged ocean, not with passion, but 
with revenge. I tell you, Agnes Russell, that if you will 
not hear me you shall feel me. I will pursue you in spite 
of all your doublings; I will cast on you shame and dis- 
grace ; I will persecute you with cruelty and hatred ; and 
what my madness cannot inflict on yourself, I will inflict 
on the dearest objects of your love and affection. I will 
heap reproach and misery on the head of your brother ; I 
will blast the character of your friend and lover. Do you 


276 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


hear me, miserable creature ? - Are you acquainted with 
the persons of Alfred Russell and Percy Courtland ? Do 
you cherish a sisterly affection for the one, and a secret at- 
tachment for the other? Know, then, that I have it in 
my power to ruin them both. And will you do nothing to 
save them, nothing to save me, nothing to secure your own 
peace and happiness?” 

“ Leave me, I beseech you !” said Agnes, rising from 
her chair. “Oh, leave me, lest I become as wild and as 
frantic as yourself!” 

“And so you shall,” he continued with insane passion, 
“ so you shall, obdurate fool ! ” 

But at that moment a loud knock was heard at the door, 
and immediately afterward Molton Fairview and Darsie 
Hopkins entered the apartment. 

Captain Lamberton stumbled forward to reach his hat, 
but as he did so muttered the word vengeance in a tone 
sufficiently audible to be distinctly heard by the new visi- 
tors. He then passed them without speaking another 
word, but with a countenance so inflamed by passion and 
feeling that the two. young men shrunk back with amaze- 
ment from a spectacle so truly frightful. 

It may readily be imagined with what confusion they 
were received by Agnes. She had scarce the power to 
utter a single S3dlable, but instantly threw herself into a 
chair and burst into tears, 

“We are sorry, Miss Russell,” said Molton, “to find 
you in trouble, but we trust that our presence will not 
cause you any inconvenience. This is my friend, Darsie 
Hopkins, a gentleman whom you will respect the more as 
you become better acquainted with him.” 

“ Thank you kindly, Molton,” replied Agnes. “ At 
such a time as this, nothing, you may be assured, could be 
more welcome than the support and consolation of new 
acquaintances.” 

“The person who has just left 3"ou,” answered Molton, 
“if I dare judge from what I observed in his countenance, 
could hardly have been paying you a welcome visit. He, 
indeed, presented an almost terrifying appearance.” 

“ He certainly caused me more trouble than pleasure,” 
said Agnes, “ and you can scarcely imagine how very glad 
I felt when you came to my relief. I have often thought 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


m 


about you, Molton, and hardly expected to see you at this 
time in San Francisco.” 

“ I have been necessarily detained on business,” rejoined 
Molton, “ and therefore found little opportunity of visiting 
this place until very recently. You cannot have forgotten 
with what interest, on our first acquaintance, I was in- 
duced to mention the name of my mother. It is that dear 
name which still urges me to new labors, and prepares me 
for new adventures.” 

“ I hope, my young friend,” answered Agnes, “ that 
hereafter your labors may become more pleasant, and your 
adventures less dangerous. I have not yet forgotten the 
risk to which you were exposed on that melancholy occa- 
sion when we were assembled together to consign to the 
ocean the remains of my guardian and protector, Mr. 
Marshfield.” 

As soon as Agnes had pronounced the name of this 
worthy individual, Darsie Hopkins was observed to change 
color, and to turn his face with more fixed attention to- 
ward the speaker. But as he did not attempt to interrupt 
the conversation, Molton continued to answer her as fol- 
lows : 

“And I shall never forget who it was that rescued my 
own body from a watery grave, and restored it again to 
life, and to its wonted consecration of serving a beloved 
mother. I often wish that in return for your noble conduct 
on that occasion I could grow at once to years of riper 
manhood, and could assume the same relation toward you 
that was held by Mr. Marshfield.” 

At this stage of the conversation Hopkins again gave 
signs of feeling a deep interest in the remark that had just 
been made, and now ventured to interrupt the speakers. 

“You have twice mentioned the name,” said he, “of 
Mr. Marshfield. Be good enough to inform me, a little 
more particularly, who this Mr. Marshfield was, and by 
what given name he was known to his friends and com- 
panions.” 

“I am sorry to say,” answered Agnes, “that although 
at the time of his death, owing to the peculiar circum- 
stances under which I was then placed, 1 regarded him as 
the dearest and best friend I had in the world, I had made 
m3^self but little acquainted with the history of his life and 

24 


278 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


the relation in which he stood toward other people. I 
only knew that his baptismal name was Walter, and that 
at one period he was the confidant, if not the agent for some 
purposes, of Captain Lamberton.’’ 

“ Good God !’’ exclaimed Hopkins, the person you 
speak of must be the same, — my very dear and honored 
uncle. And is he, indeed, dead — and must I despair of 
seeing him again in the land of the living? I had hoped 
to meet him in San Francisco on this very visit, and was 
not before apprised of his death. My poor uncle!” 

It was evident that Hopkins was deeply affected by this 
intelligence, and it seemed for a little while to absorb all 
his thoughts and feelings. But he soon afterward be- 
came calm, and with Molton Fairview began to announce 
to Agnes the purport of their visit to her on that occasion. 

“You must accompany us,” said they, “to Sacramento 
City. The remarkable circumstances attending your for- 
tune in California must be more fully developed at that 
place, and your own presence will be necessary in an inves- 
tigation which deeply concerns your future welfare. We 
have been deputed by your friend, Mr. Braxton, to escort 
you on your journey, and to become your guardians and 
advisers after you shall have arrived in that city.” 

“Alas!” said Agnes, “ how^ can I think of leaving San 
Francisco at a juncture of so much importance to me as 
this ? I have received a letter from my brother, and have 
been expecting bis arrival in this city every day. It will 
not do for me to depart hence at present. My brother, I 
have every reason to believe, will return here soon, and 
should he happen to come during my absence, it might 
be the means of separating us again for weeks and for 
months.” 

“Your concern for your brother,” they answered, “is 
natural, and altogether praiseworthy, but must be aban- 
doned on this occasion for considerations that are of more 
general interest, and W'hich are of a more pressing nature. 
Should your brother happen to arrive in San Francisco 
during your necessary absence from the city, it will surely 
be easy for him to inquire about your movements from the 
landlord with whom you are lodging at present, or you 
may give him that information yourself by addressing a 
a letter to him before your departure.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


279 


Agnes felt confident that the two young men who ex- 
pressed such a deep interest in her welfare were sincere in 
their professions. She felt, moreover, that she could hope 
for but little comfort in her present lonely situation ; that 
it would be better for her to be as near her friends as pos- 
sible, and that both for Maggy’s sake and her own it was 
altogether desirable that they should again become com- 
panions to each other. These considerations induced her 
at last to submit to the guidance of Braxton and her other 
friends. 

Before Darsie Hopkins left San Francisco, he made 
more particular inquiries about the affairs of his uncle, Mr. 
Marshfield, and was happy to find that the captain of the 
vessel on board which that gentleman died had taken care 
to secure his effects in such a manner that they had re- 
mained entirely safe from the impertinent scrutiny and 
interference of strangers. The person in whose custody 
they were left, afforded Darsie every facility he could desire 
for examining his uncle’s papers, and it was soon discov- 
ered that he had made his will a short time before his 
death, and had appointed his nephew his sole legatee and 
executor. This discovery was not a matter of much sur- 
prise to Darsie Hopkins. He knew his uncle had died an 
old bachelor, and that he had always expressed a very con- 
siderable interest in his own welfare and conduct in life. 
Nor did he at all wonder that his uncle in his will should 
have accompanied his bequest with such seasonable advice 
as he thought might be of benefit to his nephew. The old 
gentleman adverted in plain terms to Darsie’s idle habits, 
but took care to say that he believed this part of his 
conduct was greatly owing to the manner in which he had 
been brought up and educated. He remarked at the same 
time that he thought his nephew was trying to overcome 
these unfortunate defects in his character, and that on his 
success in doing so must depend his future prosperity 
and usefulness. “ He reads me like a book,” said Darsie, 
after perusing this part of the will, “ and I hope I shall not 
disgrace his memory by belying the good opinion which he 
seemed so kindly to cherish for me.” 

In a few days afterward, Agnes Russell, in company 
with her two friends, left San Francisco for the interior 
country. They soon arrived at the mission of Dolores, 


280 


HENRY COURTLANI); 


where Magp:y still continued to remain under the hospita- 
ble roof of the old padre, and where she was affectionately 
embraced again by her mistress. 

The approaching assembly of the Grand Committee at 
Sacramento City was to take place in a few days, and was 
looked forward to by many with deep concern and interest. 
It was well known that several affairs of quite weighty 
importance would come before them for trial and adjudica- 
tion, and the public mind had been agitated by many 
strange rumors concerning the part which it was supposed 
Captain Lamberton intended to act before them. That in- 
dividual had lately secured to himself a share of attention 
and remark, which rendered his name familiar in the mouths 
of many who had never before heard of him. His actions 
were closely watched, and his conversation was listened to 
with wonder whenever he was in the company of those 
who had been best acquainted with his former habits and 
manners. It was evident that, owing to some cause or 
other, a great alteration had taken place in his discourse 
and behavior. His very countenance betrayed an expres- 
sion of gloom and anxiety which those most familiar with 
him had never observed before, and it was agreed on all 
hands that Captain Lamberton had become a completely 
changed man. 


CHAPTER XLiy. 

The summer was further advanced than it was when we 
last lingered round Courtland Hall. A beautiful morning 
broke through the fleecy clouds that floated in the eastern 
sky, and the bright calmness and serenity that were spread 
over the surrounding landscape seemed to be welcomed as 
well by the lowing herds that went forth to crop the dewy 
grass, as by the tuneful songsters who chanted their hymns 
of praise on lofty trees, or were still lingering by bush and 
brake as performers in the general chorus. Roland was 
already up, engaged in driving a portion of the cattle to the 
field, or in attending to feeding another part of the stock 
in the stable. Harry was indulging in a customary luxury, 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


281 


as pleasant as it was healthy and invigorating, by bathing 
in a delightful stream not far from the pasture-field to 
which Roland was driving his cattle ; and Virginia True- 
hope was pursuing her favorite study by collecting flowers 
on the hills and in the valleys, and classifying them in the 
catalogue of her private herbarium. Mrs. Courtland and 
her maids were busy in attending to the affairs of the dairy, 
while Henry Courtland himself was seated in the porch of 
his comfortable dwelling, looking with complacency over 
the cultivated fields and well-timbered woods of his own 
farm, and occasionally stretching his eyes around in all 
directions, as if drinking in the beauties of the smiling 
landscape, now glowing with the bright effulgence of the 
rising sun. While still engaged in regaling his eyesight 
with sights and scenes so pure and exhilarating, Harry re- 
turned toward the house with the glow of health and pleas- 
ure strongly pictured in his countenance, and with a step 
so sprightly and elastic that it happened to attract the 
notice of his father. 

‘‘ I think, Harry,’’ said Mr. Courtland, “ that your lively 
spirits this morning are almost as good as my own. I 
don’t know that I' ever experienced more true enjoyment 
than I have done during the last half hour I have been 
occupying this seat.” 

“ It is a delightful morning, father,” said Harry, “ and 
one every way calculated to make us all feel happy.” 

“ I know it is,” answered Mr. Courtland, “ and yet I am 
not sure that it is altogether that either which imparts 
so much real satisfaction to my bosom at this time. Al- 
though but a plain farmer, I think I am able, to some 
extent, to discern and appreciate the beauties of nature — 
nay, I am confident that they make a most pleasing im- 
pression on my mind. This is another of the great, I was 
going to say "of the choice, privileges, which is granted 
alone to people living in the country. We may constantly 
enjoy with our eyes the pleasing pictures of the out- 
stretched landscape — the calm serenity of a summer sky — 
the glories of the rising sun. And to him who cultivates 
a taste for pleasures like these, they are the purest and the 
best that our present imperfect state of being has to give. 
But there is something more that tends to impart an addi- 
tional relish to our enjoyments. Not only may we exult 

24 * 


282 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


in our own happiness, but that is immensely increased 
when we come to reflect on the happiness which every- 
where exists around us. The songs of joyful birds — the 
music of humming insects — the chattering of the little busy- 
animals in the woods — are but responses to the joy and 
gratitude which fill our own swelling bosoms. And then we 
are called to witness other scenes of happiness, which exist 
still nearer to our own hearts, and which we share with 
the domestic animals around us as members of the same 
household. The calf and the lamb skip up and down in 
playful vivacity, and give us the strongest evidence of 
their own felicity. The simple kine low with gladness in 
the meadows, and the noble horse bounds over the plain 
with a triumphant exultation which proclaims the fullness 
of his own pleasure. Even the solemn ox seems to tell us 
in his frank, open countenance, that he too is happy. Are 
not these the tokens of a kind and good Providence whose 
gifts are liberally distributed to all ? And while thus 
witnessing the fullness of love and joy pervading every de- 
partment of nature, who will say that the farmer is not 
more blessed in his lot than any other member of the 
human family ? While his wants and cares are fewer, his 
pleasures are more pure — his discernment is more quick — 
his sympathies are more warm — his hopes are more ex- 
alted — because he traces in all that he hears and sees the 
goodness and benevolence of his great Creator, whose love 
and wisdom are constantly employed in making others 
happy like himself.” 

Harry listened to the enthusiastic remarks of his father 
without attempting to make any reply, not that he himself 
was insensible to their truth and propriety, but because they 
recalled to his mind the recollection of one who, he was 
afraid, had forfeited all the happiness of which his father 
was so fondly speaking through a perverse obstinacy, and 
was now, perhaps, without any other enjoyments than 
those which are grudgingly awarded to care and labor by 
a cold and unfeeling world. Without discovering his 
thoughts, however, he merely went on to say, as if he had 
been accidentally led to converse on a difi’erent subject, — 

“ We are still without any information from Percy, 
father. How strange it is that my brother does not see 
proper to write to some of us !” 


on, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


283 


“ I cannot say,” answered his father, “that I regard his 
silence as anything very remarkable. It is sometimes said 
that misery is fond of company, but in another sense it may 
perhaps be said with equal propriety that misery is fond of 
itself — that it willingly refrains from communion with all 
but its own thoughts and sufferings. Depend on it, that the 
whole secret of Percy’s silence is that he is unhappy.” 

“ It is on that account that I only feel the more concern 
for him,” said Harry. “ While we have a pretty correct 
idea of his real situation, our sympathy and sorrow only 
become the greater because, from not knowing where he is, 
it is utterly out of our power to render him any assist- 
ance.” 

“You are right, my son,” rejoined Mr. Courtland, “ and 
I am sorry to say that precisely the same remark will hold 
good in respect to Agnes Russell. She too has long re- 
mained silent, her father having received but one or two 
letters from her since her arrival in California. The con- 
clusion we must come to is the same as in the case of 
Percy — she is unwilling to write because she is in trouble.” 

“ Rut I do not see,” said Harry, “ why it should follow 
as a matter of course that because a person may be exposed 
to hardships and sorrows he should therefore be unwilling 
to communicate with his friends.” 

“ If we know the fact to be so,” answered his father, “ it 
is of less consequence, perhaps, that we should become ac- 
quainted with the cause of it. And yet if we reflect but 
for a moment, I think it may not be very difficult to dis- 
cover what that cause really is. It seems to me that, 
without inquiring further, we may at once perceive that 
there are two reasons for such conduct. One of them is 
that the person who suffers is proud, and is on that account 
unwilling to let his sufferings be known. The other is, 
that he knows by disclosing his own sorrows it can have 
little other effect than to increase the sorrows of his 
friends.” 

While Henry Courtland and his son were thus occupied 
in discussing the reasons for the silence of Percy and their 
friend Agnes, Mrs. Courtland was engaged on another 
part of the premises in debating with Mrs. Truehope, in 
the presence of her maids, the great art and mystery of 
neat and thrifty housekeeping. 


284 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


“ It would be a fine rule for our girls,” said Mrs. Court- 
land, “ if they would only observe it, ‘ that there is a place 
for everything, and everything should be in its place.’ It 
is because girls are not generally taught this rule, that 
there is so much disorder in almost all families. And the 
sad consequences of this neglect are scarcely ever consid- 
ered. But who does not know how many husbands be- 
come offended and discouraged with their wives, how 
many sisters lose the esteem and affection of their brothers, 
how many fair ladies lose the admiration of their suitors, 
merely because this rule is so universally neglected ! The 
girl that is too careless and inconsiderate to keep her own 
affairs in order, will hardly possess skill enough to govern 
a family, or make other people comfortable. A disordered 
house is a sure sign of a corresponding disorder of the in- 
tellect.” 

“ It is more than likely that you are right,” observed 
Mrs. Truehope, “ and yet there would sometimes seem to 
be a remarkable inconsistency between the mind of an in- 
dividual and the outward acts which distinguish his con- 
duct. There are many persons who are able to reduce 
their thoughts on almost any subject into the most orderly 
arrangement, who nevertheless would seem to be utterly 
at a loss to render them available to the accomplishment 
of any practical results. Virginia, for instance, will clas- 
sify and dispose of her plants on paper with the utmost 
accuracy, but when she is called on to arrange the particu- 
lars of some domestic process, or even to place in order the 
furniture of her own apartment, she is as helpless as a 
child who is still enduring the restraints of the nursery. 
While she is able to point out to you the manner in which 
a thing ought to be done, she altogether lacks the ability 
of doing it herself.” 

“ But then the mind is still at fault,” returned Mrs. 
Courtland. “ While she possesses the understanding of 
discerning what is right, she lacks the will to reduce her 
knowledge to practice. Our theories in this world can be 
of little consequence, unless we attempt to make them prof- 
itable by applying them to purposes of usefulness. Hence 
it is that persons often who think the most are found to ac- 
complish the least. The individual who walks straight 
forward in a path, will make much greater progress than 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


285 


he who admires its ease and beauty, and yet pauses at 
every turn lest his feet should be hurt by the natural in- 
equalities which are inseparable from the ground in all 
directions.” 

“ Then you would not have persons to think too deeply,” 
said Mrs. Truehope, ‘‘ on subjects connected with the or- 
dinary duties of life ?” 

“No,” said Mrs. Courtland, “nor on any other subject. 
But after all it is not so much the thinking too deeply as it 
is the thinking too much and too long that disqualifies us 
for the active duties of the world. It is right to think, 
that is, to think in reason and moderation, but while we 
are thinking let us not forget to act at the same time. 
Thought and action should go together like the flash in the 
pan and the report which is immediately afterward heard 
from the gun.” 

“ Now, girls,” rejoined Mrs. Truehope, addressing herself 
to two or three maid-servants, who had been listening all 
the time with good-natured patience to the rather lofty 
teachings of their mistress, “I hope you understand what 
Mrs. Courtland has been saying. You must be neat and 
orderly in the arrangement of everything you have to per- 
form, and must not only think about it, but go right away 
and do it. And even should you meet with obstacles in 
your endeavors to discharge your duties faithfully, you 
must not suffer yourselves to become discouraged. Like 
the insect who is disturbed in weaving a web for its sup- 
port and protection, if it is rent and torn by accident, he 
endeavors at once to remedy the disaster, or if that should 
be impracticable, proceeds forthwith to construct a new 
fabric.” 

The girls made no direct reply to the kind suggestions 
of Mrs. Truehope, only that they bowed in smiling sub- 
mission, as if giving their cheerful approbation to what 
she had said. But a new occurrence now attracted their 
attention. Just as they were about to separate, Virginia 
Truehope was seen approaching at some distance, on her 
return from her morning ramble, accompanied by another 
female. At first the visitor was supposed to be one of 
their neighbors, who had taken this early opportunity of 
doing an errand to Courtland Hall, which it would have 
been less pleasant to do at a more advanced hour of the 


286 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


day. On nearer inspection, however, every one pronounced 
the new-comer to be a stranger, with whom they thought 
they had made no previous acquaintance. Her appear- 
ance was that of a lady who had been traveling in some 
kind of a conveyance, but which she was obliged to leave 
on account of its not passing the spot where her journey 
was to terminate. She was not arrayed in a riding-habit, 
but her dress was made to come as near to it as possible, 
and had evidently been worn during a period of some days’ 
continuance. She carried in her hand a lady’s traveling 
basket, and as the two females drew nearer to the house, 
it was discovered that Virginia was likewise carrying a 
small carpet-bag, which no doubt belonged to the stranger. 
A veil covered her face, and as she approached still nearer 
to the spot where Mrs. Truehope and her companions were 
standing, Virginia suddenly led her to the rear of the 
building, which they entered together by a back door. 

During the greater part of these movements not a word 
passed between Mrs. Courtland and Mrs. Truehope, and 
after the two females had entered the house, the latter 
lady followed them with some precipitation, accompanied 
by her friend, Mrs. Courtland. When they reached the 
sitting-room, the new visitor had already thrown herself 
into a chair which occupied the center of the apartment ; 
her veil still continuing to cover her face, and her head 
resting on her hand, as if she was laboring under some 
great agitation. Virginia was seated in a corner of the 
room, silent and dejected. But as soon as Mrs. Truehope 
entered, the stranger arose, threw aside her veil, and rushed 
into the arms of her mother. It was Clara Truehope — the 
child who had been lost for so many years, but who was 
now so suddenly and so unexpectedly restored to the em- 
braces of her fond parent. 

It is unnecessary that we should attempt to describe the 
feelings that were experienced by mother and child on this 
memorable occasion. They hung in hysterical passion on 
each other’s neck — they sobbed — they laughed — they re- 
joiced in almost frantic ecstacy — they sunk again into silent 
and melancholy sorrow. But they soon recovered that 
calm serenity which, on almost all occasions, follows a 
state of so much feeling and excitement. Clara of course 
had changed much in outward appearance. The pale im- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


28T 


press of grief was spread over her countenance, and her 
once cheerful and brilliant eyes were now downcast and 
mournful. But her mother knew her almost at once, in 
spite of the changes which time and sorrow had wrought 
in her person. She knew her, or thought she knew her, 
while still walking with Virginia, and before they drew 
near enough to the house to be fairly recognized. She 
knew her more certainly the moment she rose from her 
seat to fly into her arms, and before they had imprinted 
the fond kiss of love and affection on each other’s cheeks 
and lips. 

After these warm salutations had been exchanged, Mrs. 
Truehope said to her daughter, “ Clara, you once had a 
husband, and he is now dead. It was not necessary that 
I should wait for you to tell me that. I knew it the mo- 
ment I laid my eyes on your person. I knew it by your 
mournful gait — I read it in your melancholy countenance 
— but what has become of your child? What has become 
of that dear boy who it is said resembled you so much, 
and whom you must have regarded as the treasure and 
idol of your heart ?” 

“Alas, mother!” said the disconsolate daughter, “your 
questions are but the anxious echoes of my own bosom, 
that would vainly sound the depths of a mysterious Provi- 
dence. What has become of him ? He whose love and 
wisdom are constantly put forth to make us perfect through 
sufferings, alone can tell. What has become of him ? That 
question I have asked myself a thousand times, and now 
that I am restored to the embraces of a fond parent, the 
question would seem to recur with tenfold earnestness, 
— what has become of him ? I cannot tell. I only know 
that I had a son — that I had a son whom I dearly, fondly 
loved, and who as dearly and fondly loved me — but that 
I now feel as if I were lonely and childless in the world.” 

The history of Clara, since we last lost sight of her, 
may be told in a few words. She never left the City of 
New York, after she removed there with her husband, 
until the occasion of which we are now speaking, when 
she returned to the neighborhood which gave her birth. 
After the failure of her husband in business, they continued 
to struggle along in a small way for several years, with 
such means as their industry were able to command. But ' 


288 


HEJ^RY COURTLAND; 


these means were never abundant, and were barely suffi- 
cient to afford them a decent livelihood. At last they grew 
more circumscribed, and her husband, as much perhaps on 
account of the sufferings of his wife as from any other 
cause, died of a broken heart. Poor Clara would have 
died of the same disease, and would have soon followed 
her husband to the grave, had it not been for the son of 
whom we have just spoken above That son she loved 
with all the tenderness of maternal affection. She believed 
that it was her duty to live for him, and work for him, so 
long as strength should be granted her for that purpose. 
She hoped that the time would come when he would make 
a willing return of her love, and when perhaps in her old 
age, instead of looking to her for that assistance and sup- 
port which he now needed, he would be able to gladden 
her heart by administering to her own wants, and smooth- 
ing for her the bed of death. But, alas ! how vain and 
illusory are all our hopes in this life. The boy seemed to be 
but indifferently pleased with what his mother was striv- 
ing to do for him. He was either too proud or was pos- 
sessed of too much feeling to know how to value her benefits. 
As he grew older he grew more shy of his mother, and be- 
came every day more fretful and unhappy. And yet he 
was by no means deficient in filial affection and obedience, 
but was merely desirous of exerting his own powers, and 
asserting his own independence. At last, by incessant 
importunity, he obtained the consent of his mother that he 
might absent himself for a temporary purpose from the pa- 
rental roof, and might be suffered for a time to seek his 
own fortune. When she gave her consent to this request, 
she supposed that her child would have returned to her 
again in a very few days, or a very few weeks. But many 
days and many weeks had elapsed since they parted from 
each other — many bitter tears she bad shed since their 
separation — but had heard no tidings of him since. More 
than a year had now passed since she lost her child, and 
to the question, what had become of him, she could re- 
ceive no satisfactory answer. Under these circumstances 
she was induced to make her situation known to her mother 
and friends in the manner we have related above. She 
could not tell how many of her relations were living or 
dead, but she resolved to ascertain this fact by a personal 


oil, WHAT A FAR3IER CAN DO. 


289 


visit. She accordingly took passage in the stage from the 
City of New York, and having reached the point nearest 
to her former place of residence, she there learned that 
her mother was living at Courtland Hall, where she arrived, 
as we have seen, in company with her sister Virginia, 
whom she overtook on the way returning from her morn- 
ing ramble. 


CHAPTER XLY. 

When Captain Lamberton broke away from the apart- 
ment occupied by Agnes Russell, at the hotel in San Fran- 
cisco, as we have seen, he was rendered ten times more 
frantic by the interview he had just had with that perse- 
cuted young lady. His malignant spirit now panted for 
revenge, as much as it before had longed to bring her by 
force and stratagem into subjection to his will. For the 
purpose of gratifying this evil feeling, he repaired imme- 
diately to the neighborhood of Sacramento City. One of 
his first objects was, to lay hands on Percy Courtland, and 
to reduce him to another term of rigorous confinement. 
He was entirely ignorant of the course that young gentle- 
man was resolved on pursuing, and was not aware that he 
was just as anxious to appear in the presence of the Com- 
mittee himself as Lamberton could possibly be to place 
him before that tribunal. Nor will it seem wonderful to 
the reader that this base and unhappy individual should 
have acted with such high-handed arrogance, when he 
comes to consider the true state of the country at the time 
these events transpired, and the high position which Cap- 
tain Lamberton held, or supposed he held, in relation to 
the temporary and fugitive government then existing in 
California. It must be remembered that he was a branch 
of the Committee himself, that he was able to influence the 
minds of many of its leading members, and that from his 
local knowledge of the affairs and resources of that new 
country, he had been looked up to as an important agent 
in the management of its most prominent concerns. Such 

25 


290 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


a man, under such circumstances, might easily convince 
himself that he was possessed of more authority than 
really belonged to him, and might not only undertake to 
govern, but might likewise suppose that he was vested 
with a legitimate right* in his own person to censure, to 
arrest, and even to imprison. 

Percy Courtland, after taking leave of Hopkins and 
Fairview in the way we have already mentioned, con- 
tinued to struggle with the many serious and discouraging 
difficulties which attended his circumstances. His taste 
and disposition were entirely inimical to the mode of life 
he had been for some time pursuing, and his physical 
powers, although he was capable of exerting them to great 
advantage in certain directions, were wholly inadequate 
to a successful prosecution of his new labors. It was at 
this period, too, owing to the heavy rains which had just 
set in, that the most important and profitable operations 
at the mines had nearly or altogether ceased. Even 
vigorous and enterprising workmen had to content them- 
selves with meager profits, and others, who were less 
fortunate, or less determined, met with still worse en- 
couragement to reward their labor. To persons on the 
spot it was truly distressing to look round on the great 
number of individuals who were suffering almost every 
extremity of sorrow from these causes. Many broke down 
under the severity of their exertions, and without any fur- 
ther struggle yielded themselves victims to the last stage 
of despondency. Others became afflicted with disease, 
and without medicines or medical advice — without that 
soothing kindness in the person of a parent, a relative, or 
a friend, which sometimes is worth more than the most 
skillful treatment of the most skillful practitioner — they 
pined away in hopeless misery until death kindly stepped 
in to their relief. Others again attempted to escape a 
feeling of their sorrows by steeping their senses in the 
inebriating cup, which at last rendered their misery only 
the more intolerable. Many resorted to the gambling- 
table, either as a temporary expedient to gain some slight 
respite from their conscious wretchedness, or as a plausible 
resort to repair and build up their ruined fortunes. It was 
astonishing, indeed, to see with what readiness most of 
these despairing wretches got rid of the moral restraints. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


291 


which, bat a few weeks or a few months before, had con- 
fined them within the paths of honor and rectitude, and 
which served to render them good members of society at 
least, although they might not have been good men or 
good Christians. The time was when they would have 
shrunk, as from the most loathsome contagion, from every- 
thing that was low, degrading, or dishonest. But now, 
far remote from the pale of serious and dignified society, 
with none to witness their shame but such as were as vile 
and degraded as themselves — with no dear relations to in- 
terpose between them and disgrace — with no true friends 
to counsel and instruct — reckless, faithless, and desperate 
— ^gaunt famine perhaps staring them in the face — inor- 
dinate distress overpowering their better faculties — they 
yield at once to the arts of the seducer, and are as power- 
less to withstand temptation as if they were assaulted by 
a legion of fiends. 

All this was pictured before the apprehension of Percy 
Courtland in colors as real and life-like as if they were 
the shadowings forth of his own inward soul. But although 
he had a perfect understanding of what was going on 
around him, he had no relish and no desire to identify 
himself either with its madness or its wickedness. He 
had been early taught to cherish a sacred regard for truth 
and goodness, and when these were not found he felt him- 
self moving in a sphere that rendered him lonely and un- 
happy. In order to make such a state of life less intolera- 
ble, he was in the habit of taking long solitary walks on the 
banks of the river, and in directions which led him to a 
great distance from the immediate location where he and 
his companions had pitched their tents. Sometimes he 
was engaged in exploring new regions, where he thought 
there was a prospect of realizing a greater amount of 
treasure than was to be found in other places. But as 
a general thing he aimed at diverting his mind from the 
difficulties of his situation, and to enjoy that happiness 
in solitude which experience taught him he could hardly 
expect to meet with amid the noise and bustle of a miner’s 
camp. 

While Percy was thus forced to become as it were his 
own associate, and to rely on himself as the contriver of 
his own happiness, Agnes Bussell found it no less neces- 


292 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


sary to indulge in a somewhat similar course of life, in 
order that she might pass away the time agreeably to her- 
self, which, until the members of the Great Committee 
should meet at Sacramento City, she was compelled to 
spend with her companion at Dolores. For this purpose 
they contrived many means of diversion, which, under the 
sanction of the old padre, they were permitted to pursue 
for pastime. Sometimes they would attempt to resuscitate 
the decayed flower-beds in the mission-garden. At other 
times they would amuse themselves by gathering the fruits 
in the vicinity of their habitation, which were as delicious 
to the ta.ste as they were abundant in every direction 
within the bounds of that old domain. But their principal 
source of amusement arose from walking and rambling to 
remote distances round the country. It often happened 
that the padre accompanied them on these excursions. 
But when it was their intention to take a very long walk 
they usually apprised him of it, and he would then substi- 
tute for his personal guardianship his paternal blessing, 
and would remain at home. 

It was on one of these occasions, when they had wan- 
dered out alone, and had extended their walk far beyond 
the limits by which it was usually confined, they came un- 
expectedly to an open space that for some distance round 
presented the appearance of a bare common or moor, 
and which it was evident had at one period or another 
been occupied by persons who paid some attention to the 
cultivation of the soil, and who had selected it as a place 
of habitation. Perhaps it was a spot where the mission 
of Dolores had been originally established, and was after- 
ward abandoned for the one where Agnes and her com- 
panion were now residing with the old padre. In the 
center rose a building constructed after the manner of the 
rude architecture of the country, and which, owing to its 
solid and massy materials, might still afford a somewhat 
comfortable shelter to the houseless wanderer. Everything 
but the main edifice, however, had fallen into absolute 
decay, and scarcely a vestige remained of the surrounding 
improvements that must once have adorned the place. 
The old house itself possessed one distinguishing feature, 
which immediately attracted the attention of the two girls 
who were so unexpectedly brought to look on it in its de- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


293 


sertion and loneliness. It was erected on the margin of a 
beautiful stream of water, which murmured in soft eddies 
as it passed, and over which hung a projecting balcony or 
porch, that ran along the entire extent of that end of the 
building. 

“This is a sight,” said' Agnes, as soon as they had en- 
tered on the waste spot we have been describing, “ that I 
hardly expected to witness in the midst of these lonely soli- 
tudes. If you and I were superstitious, Maggy, we might 
suppose that old deserted building yonder gave shelter to 
beings that are not of this earth ; or if we were as appre- 
hensive of danger as perhaps some females in our situation 
would be, we might believe it to be the haunt of outlaws 
and robbers, who infest the immense forests of this wild 
and ferocious country.” 

“Hush!” said Maggy. “You almost make me think 
that we are surrounded by the very beings to which your 
imagination is giving an existence. Did you not hear a 
noise ?” 

“ I heard nothing,” said Agnes, “ but the murmuring fall 
of the water, or perhaps the rustling of the leaves stirred 
by the summer breeze.” 

“ Let us walk this way,” rejoined Maggy, pointing in a 
direction toward the old dilapidated building. “I would 
prefer being closer to that house, or else farther off.” 

“ I am curious myself,” said Agnes, “ to take a nearer 
view of this solitary structure.” 

They now advanced farther on the path they had been 
pursuing, which brought them to a fuller view of the rear 
of the building, and directly in front of the balcony that 
projected over the stream of water. 

“It is pleasing to think,” observed Agnes, “how that 
balcony once afforded delight and enjoyment to hearts that 
were as desolate and sorrowful then as ours are now. The 
wild and extended view of the surrounding scenery, the 
loneliness of the sacred spot, and the melancholy plashing 
of the water below, must have been calculated to soothe 
the mind into an enthusiasm that was as calm and gentle 
as it was refreshing to the wearied spirits. It was a spot 
that methinks a poet or a lover would have selected as 
exactly adapted to his o\yn solitary habits and musings.” 

“ Yes ” said Maggy, “or that a poor girl like me might 
25 * 


294 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


have chosen for the purpose of reading my Bible, or at 
least of counting my beads, if I had been brought up in 
the faith of those who were its first proprietors.” 

“ See,” exclaimed Agnes, “ how that tangled vine, at one 
end of the porch, has woven itself into a bower the most 
beautiful and romantic that could be imagined ! Let us 
endeavor to reach it. I should like to repose there for a 
few minutes, if it was only for the sake of tasting its 
fragrance, and looking down on the transparent stream 
that so delightfully leaps its way through the shaded banks 
below.” 

“ Did you not hear something move ?” said Maggy, 
drawing nearer to Agnes. 

“ I heard nothing, whatever, Maggy,” returned her com- 
panion. 

“And just now,” continued Maggy, “ I really thought I 
saw the shape of a human figure pressing against the sides 
of that thick mass of shrubbery you call a bower. Would 
it not be strange if, after all, it should turn out to be the 
harbor of some wild adventurer or outlaw ?” 

• “ Do be quiet, Maggy !” cried Agnes. “ I myself am 
beginning to feel as if my fears were getting the better of 
my reason and judgment.” 

At that moment two men were seen approaching from a 
distant hollow or ravine, who were directing their steps in 
a straight line toward the old building. Another person 
immediately afterward emerged from a dense piece of forest 
in an opposite direction. 

“ Hold !” cried Agnes to her companion in a low voice. 
“ For God’s sake do not make a noise, or we shall be dis- 
covered ! Let us conceal ourselves behind this tree. Per- 
haps the men may pass on, and we shall be safe.” 

Maggy was able to obey the instructions of her mistress, 
although she at first could scarcely be restrained from mak- 
ing an outcry that would have led to their immediate dis- 
covery. In the mean time the two men advaneed until 
they stood directly in front of the building, on the other 
side of that from which projected the balcony and bower. 
The third person continued to linger in the background, 
but from his movements it was evident he was connected 
with the other two, who now stood reconnoitering the old 
house as if with a design to effect an entrance. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


295 


“This is an out-of-the-way affair, altogether,” said one of 
tlie men to the other, “and looks more as if we were sent 
to unearth some wild beast from his den than to apprehend 
the person of a human being like ourselves. Now, it is not 
everyone that could have engaged me in such a mad chase 
as this. But Lamberton is learning more and more every 
day how to act like a gentleman, and how to treat men 
with respect who, on fair grounds, may be considered his 
equals.” 

“Just so, Reuben, my boy,” answered his companion, 
“and the consequence is precisely this, that we two must 
change our tune a little in order to accommodate him in his 
wild notions. I once thought that I would not do much 
for him before the Committee, but seeing that he has at last 
learned what belongs to gentlemen like ourselves, I think, 
Reuben, we may as well swear up to the mark.” 

“ That is, Martin,” said the other, “ we will just tell as 
much of our story as will suit the occasion, and the rest 
we will keep as our own private property. I am sure that 
will be neither false swearing nor false dealing. But how 
shall we manage to get at the fellow inside without his 
escaping like a fox from the bush ? I doubt very much, if 
he got loose, whether the mad hound yonder could do much 
to prevent him from flying to cover, and perhaps doing us 
all a little mischief Let me see. Here is the door. Now, 
just keep guard below, Martin, while I go up and scare him 
from his kennel, which Lamberton says he is always sure 
to occupy at this time of day.” 

So saying the younger of these two confederates, whom 
the reader will by this time recognize as the ruffians 
Blakely and Maxwell, disappeared at the entrance below, 
leaving his companion to stand as sentinel during his ex- 
ploration of the premises. But he had scarcely found his 
way into the old building before a violent scuffle was heard 
to ensue. In another moment a heavy body was perceived 
to fall with a dull noise to the ground, and it was seen 
that Maxwell had been hurled over the balcony, and lay 
spra wling in agony on the bank of the stream. 

As soon as this catastrophe had taken place, Blakely, on 
hearing the noise, moved off precipitately to the rear of the 
building, in order to ascertain the nature of an event so 
sudden and unexpected. Maxwell was stretched on the 


296 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


ground as if suffering severely from the effects of the fall, 
but by the assistance of his companion he was soon raised 
again on his feet, and seemed to be much less injured than 
was at first supposed. 

“I tell you what, Martin,” said Maxwell, “that young 
fellow is as strong as a bear, and as fierce and nimble as 
a wildcat. I thought to have led him down-stairs like a 
lamb, when, behold you, the moment I laid my hand on him 
he pitched me from him as lightly as if I had been a truant 
school-boy receiving correction at the hands of an enraged 
father. Nor do 1 think he meant to do me very serious 
harm either, for when I staggered toward the open end of 
the balcony up yonder, I thought he reached forward and 
tried to save me from falling. But, to tell you the truth, I 
was too much for him as well as for myself. My over- 
grown carcass, when set in motion, pitched forward of its 
own accord, and came down with a dead weight that 
seemed to bruise the very marrow in my bones.” 

“ But I hope you are not much hurt, Reuben ?” asked the 
other inquiringly. 

“Most certainly,” replied the other; “that is what I can 
hardly give a satisfactory account of myself. Hurt ? why, 
if the injury I have sustained was only half equal to the 
pains in one of my shoulders, I would say that 1 had re- 
ceived a most capital hurt. But the thing is just so, Mar- 
tin. If none of my bones are broken I may do first-rate 
after all. One thing, however, I have made up my mind 
about, and that is, I have done with these infernal agencies 
of Captain Lamberton. It is enough that we are to serve 
him before the Committee. But as to anything else, why, 
here I say, on the bank of this memorable stream of water, 
which I am sure I will not soon forget, I wash my hands 
clean of it.” 

“But, my good Reuben,” said his accomplice, “is it 
right that we should desert Captain Lamberton in his 
present extremity ? Do you not see that our prisoner has 
escaped, and that, in all probability, if he should happen 
to meet the captain in his flight, he may encounter him 
with a greeting that will be quite as rough as the one you 
met with awhile ago ?” 

“And that may be all true enough,” rejoined Maxwell ; 
“ but I don’t see why we should be receiving more bruises 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


297 


on Lamberton’s account. I think, at least, that mine 
ought first to be thoroughly healed up, before I risk my 
poor body in any adventure for him that might deprive 
it of the little life that yet remains from my present mal- 
treatment.” 

“ Why, I hope, Reuben, that your manhood has not been 
cowed by the unfortunate failure of a single experiment. 
Cheer up, man I I feel almost ashamed for your sake. 
Shall we be afraid of this hair-brained boy, who, after all, 
is only one against three 

“ Don’t call me a coward, Martin,” answered Maxwell. 
“I won’t endure that. I think I have always shown my- 
self to be at least as brave as you are, my stout friend.” 

“ To be sure you have,” observed the other. “ But, 
then, you know, our bravery always depends on circum- 
stances. I am half persuaded that we will have an op- 
portunity of showing it now, if we but stand up in defense 
of Captain Lamberton.” 

“Very good!” replied Maxwell. “Now, Martin, you 
threw out some confounde'd strong hints of my being a 
coward. Come on then and follow me. If we should be 
so fortunate as to overtake the enemy who has just 
escaped from us, you may, in the first place, have all the 
glory of whipping him yourself. But remember, that as 
soon as you shall have done with him you must fight me, 
for I know that by that time you will be pretty well used 
up, and we shall be on a perfect equality. You see, Mar- 
tin, I don’t like to be called a coward.” 

“ Hold on and keep cool !” exclaimed his companion. 
“ I am sure that I did not mean you wouldn’t fight when 
occasion required it. Why, Reuben, I hope we are both 
as brave and as true as steel.” 

It happened, just at the moment Maxwell uttered these 
words, that Agnes and Maggy, who still continued to re- 
main in their place of concealment, attempted to move olf 
in a direction opposite from that which Blakely and Max- 
well seemed bent on pursuing. Whether their intention 
was to escape from the near vicinity of these doughty in- 
dividuals, or to render some assistance, if possible, to the 
person who was the object of their persecution, by notify- 
ing him of his danger, we leave the reader himself to judge. 
But whatever may have been the motives by which they were 


298 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


influenced, their movements were immediately discovered 
by the two men between whom the conversation we have 
narrated had just taken place, and who became so much 
alarmed that they made all possible haste to escape from a 
place where they now thought they were surrounded by 
spies, and exposed perhaps to the utmost danger. They 
fled precipitately through the woods, to the great relief of 
the two defenseless females, Reuben Maxwell following 
his companion with admirable ease and alertness, con- 
sidering the painful injuries he had complained of only a 
few moments before. 

As to Percy Courtland, whose identity with the indi- 
vidual whom Blakely and Maxwell attempted to make 
prisoner in the old house the reader will before this time 
have discovered, a few words will suffice to explain his 
present adventure. Agreeably to what we have already 
hinted, he was fond of long rambles from the spot on 
which the tents of the miners were pitched, and in one of 
these rambles happened to discover the old ruined build- 
ing, to which, when he had no other employment, he 
frequently retreated, and where he spent much time in 
reading such books as he had brought with him to Cali- 
fornia. Captain Lamberton discovered his retreat, and 
determined to place him a second time under arrest. For 
this purpose he put into requisition the services of the 
two myrmidons who had followed his fortunes since the 
commencement of our narrative, and whose adventure in 
the old building turned out as we have described it above. 
Maxwell, as we have seen, had laid hands on Percy, who, 
by an exertion of bodily strength he was scarcely conscious 
of possessing himself, was able to resist the attack on his 
liberty successfully, which terminated in the fall of the 
former individual from the balcony. As soon as this 
catastrophe took place, which was certainl}^ not intended 
by Percy himself, that young gentleman ran down to the 
door at which Blakely had been posted, and finding that 
he had gone round to the other side of the house for the 
purpose of assisting his companion, he saw that there was 
less reason for detaining himself on the spot, and immedi- 
ately made his escape in a different direction. In a few 
minutes he overtook Captain Lamberton, who had some 
reason to believe that his contemplated assault on the 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


299 


young man had become public, and that attempts might 
be made to rescue him out of his hands. It was for the 
purpose of apprising his accomplices of such attempts, if 
any should be made, that he was posted as a sentinel at 
some distance in the adjoining wood. As Percy ap- 
proached the place where his persecutor was watching, he 
made up his mind to pass him in silence, unless he should 
meet with some interruption from his antagonist. He 
accordingly proceeded on his course without noticing 
Lamberton, and kept as much out of his way as possible. 
But the latter resolved that he should not escape from 
him on terms so easy. He crossed over to the path 
which Percy was pursuing, and with inflamed visage, 
and an utterance half suppressed by anger, he commanded 
him to stop. 

“ I will not stop at your instance. Captain Lamberton,’’ 
said Percy, “unless you assign some better reason for my 
doing so than your own word.” 

“ Villain !” exclaimed Lamberton, “ my word is suffi- 
cient.” 

“ I am no villain. Captain Lamberton,” answered Percy, 
“ and I cast the word back into your own teeth. You are 
not only a villain, but I am afraid in heart are both a 
libeler and an assassin.” 

“Base scoundrel!” ejaculated the captain ; “dare you 
use such language concerning me, and to my face ?” 

“Ay, Captain Lamberton !” replied Percy. “I do not 
fear you — 1 do not seek to flatter you. I make use of pre- 
cisely that kind of language which 1 believe your base- 
ness and treachery so richly merit.” 

“Then take that, impudent reviler!” cried the captain, 
striking him a very severe blow over the shoulders with a 
cane which he held in his hands, and which was so unex- 
pected to Percy that he was not quick enough in trying to 
ward off the battery from his person. But in a moment 
afterward he closed with his antagonist in fierce and des- 
perate struggle. In another moment the cane parted from 
the center and discovered the shining blade of a dirk or 
sword, which was now unsheathed from its scabbard, and 
which Lamberton seemed to aim with deadly purpose at 
Percy’s bosom. This time, however, his opponent was 
too quick for hin). He parried the thrust with his arm, 


300 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


and, pitching against his antagonist with all his might, 
caught hold of the handle of the sword and wrenched it 
out of his hand. But, in the performance of this feat, the 
point of the sword glanced aside as it quit the grasp of 
Lamberton, and, being forced in an oblique direction, 
pierced him slightly between the ribs At the same time 
Percy hurled the weapon from him with all his might, and 
Lamberton, supposing he could make his comrades hear 
him, cried out lustily for help. But already these craven- 
hearted miscreants had become alarmed at the appearance 
of Maggy and her companion, and were retreating through 
the woods with all the dispatch in their power. Captain 
Lamberton was glad to follow their example as soon as he 
found that his antagonist had only been fighting in self- 
defense, and that he was generous enough to let him depart 
without the slightest wish to do him an injury. 

It may easily be supposed the two females were greatly 
excited by the stirring scenes they had just been called to 
witness. Agnes caught a distinct view of the form of 
Percy as he passed from the old building, and was ready 
to exclaim with surprise and emotion when the sudden 
apparition burst on her eyesight. But from anything that 
could be observed in the conduct and speech of Maggy, 
either at the time these occurrences took place or after- 
ward, it may be doubted whether she was favored with 
the same evidences of recognition. Both the girls had 
witnessed the encounter between Percy and Lamberton, 
and were sufficiently near not only to see the struggle that 
passed between them, but to hear the words that were 
exchanged on both sides. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO, 


301 


CHAPTER XLYI. 

When Percy Courtland became disengaged from the 
unpleasant rencounter into which he had been brought with 
Captain Lamberton, he steered directly toward the neigh- 
borhood in which his tent was pitched in the mining dis- 
trict. His bosom, of course, had become greatly agitated 
from the scenes he had just passed through, and he felt a 
good deal uneasy on account of the unfortunate wound 
which he knew Lamberton had accidentally received during 
the struggle between them from his own weapon. He was 
well aware that that individual had of late grown com- 
pletely desperate, and would in all probability make use of 
the occurrence that had just taken place as an additional 
means to bring him into disgrace and odium with the Com- 
mittee. It was true that no persons were present at this 
unhappy meeting but themselves ; and yet it was quite 
uncertain whether the ruffians who attempted to arrest 
him at the old house might not have witnessed it from the 
spot where he left them, and would thus have it in their 
power to distort all the circumstances in favor of Captain 
Lamberton. But whether this would turn out to be the 
case or not, he was afraid the Committee would listen to 
Lamberton’s own story, and would perhaps regard him as 
the only witness in the transaction. No wonder, there- 
fore, that he should feel great concern on account of what 
had just taken place. 

While indulging in these unpleasant reflections, and 
before reaching the encampment where his tent was 
pitched, he was met by Braxton. 

‘‘ My dear Percy,” said the latter, I have been in pur- 
suit of you everywhere, and am exceedingly glad to find 
you here at last. You know that I have told you more 
than once that you yourself must become an important 
instrument in freeing Agnes Russell from the power and 
malignity of Captain Lamberton, and the time has at 
length arrived when your services in relation to this desir- 

26 


302 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


able object are most needed. But, my dear boy, you look 
concerned and unhappy. What is the matter with you ? 
what accident has befallen you to-day 

“ Something,’’ said Percy, “that I am afraid will interfere 
with the very task you are about to impose on me — some- 
thing that may not only alfect my own interest but like- 
wise the interest of Agnes Russell.” 

“ Speak it out then,” rejoined Braxton. “ Let me hear 
what new thing is likely to give us trouble in relation to 
this persecuted young lady.” 

Percy then proceeded to give Braxton a particular and 
detailed account of the events that had just taken place, in 
which he was compelled to bear such an active part, and 
with which our readers are already fully acquainted. 

“ This is all bad enough,” said Braxton, “and yet I will 
not say that it is beyond remedy. It has providentially 
happened, I trust, in order that your own diligence may 
only be the more quickened in regard to the work which I 
am now about to assign you. You must proceed at once 
to Gilson’s Ranche, on the road to Monterey, in order to 
deliver a message there to Governor Cartwright. The 
Committee, you know, is to meet for business on Monday 
next, and it is of the utmost consequence that Governor 
Cartwright should assemble with them on the first day of 
the meeting, or at least not later than the second day. Al- 
most everything in relation to poor Agnes depends on his 
presence. But he is not aware of this himself, and I am 
told has expressed a determination not to be there until 
the latter part of the week. This will not do. You must 
therefore hasten with all diligence to deliver the note I 
shall give you into his own hands. Everything depends 
on having him here in time. You must set out this very 
night, and give yourself no more rest and refreshment than 
is absolutely requisite for your bodily health and strength, 
until you and he shall appear before the Committee in 
Sacramento City. Here is the note. Do not wait for any 
further explanation, but enter on your journey at once.” 
Percy was supplied with the means of hiring a horse at 
the next ranche on the road, and proceeded forthwith to 
fulfill the task confided to him by Braxton. 

That gentleman had not parted long from Percy before 
he was overtaken by Mr. Stanley, who was on his way to 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


303 


Sacramento City, where he expected to meet the Grand 
Committee on the following week. These two friends, of 
course, soon entered into serious conversation with each 
other on the subject of the important business which was 
to come before that body, and in which they both could 
not but feel a strong and deep interest. Braxton, at the 
same time, related to his companion the unfavorable occur- 
rence which had that day happened between Percy and 
Captain Lamberton, and made some remarks on the conse- 
quences he was afraid might result from the same. 

“ You certainly have reasonable grounds for your appre- 
hension of danger,” said Mr. Stanley, “ and yet it would 
be altogether wrong to suffer our minds to become affected 
with too much alarm. We must not forget that some of , 
the members of the Committee are losing confidence in 
Lamberton, and are becoming more and more impressed 
with the conviction that it is their duty to inquire with 
strictness into all the transactions connected with that 
gentleman. Rumor is doing a good deal to rouse their fears, 
and put them on their guard. Besides, his own conduct, 
so strange and eccentric of late, seems calculated to betray 
the weakness if not the wickedness of his character. He 
is exhibiting to the world another terrible example of the 
certain transformation which vice, when persisted in, 
sooner or later, is always sure to work in the human 
heart.” 

“ He is unquestionably a very bad man,” observed 
Braxton, “ and of late has shown himself also to be a very 
weak one.” 

“He is, as I have said,” answered Stanley, “another 
illustration of the gradual but sure inroads which unre- 
strained selfishness will always make in its tendency to 
warp aside and corrupt our better principles. The heart 
of man may be said never to be at rest. It can no more 
remain neutral, so far as respects the contest urged between 
vice and virtue, than a floating body can remain stationary 
in mid-air. It must either fall to the ground, or be borne 
away by a strong current of wind to the clouds. It must 
either ascend upward toward heaven, or sink in willing 
thraldom downward toward hell. And when once the 
affections begin to tend downward, what a rapid descent 
there is at last — what a vast, profound, and absolute fall I 


304 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


I cannot believe that Captain Lamberton was once what 
he appears to be now. But there was a strong attraction 
in the wrong direction — a secret bias in the interior of his 
mind which he was unwilling to detect — and he suffered 
himself to be led away into evil. Oh, Mr. Braxton, let 
us pray to be delivered from temptation ! We may be- 
lieve ourselves to stand ever so strong and ever so safe, 
yet if we have only built our house on the sand, the first 
blast of th'e tempest will level it to the ground, and great 
will be the fall of it.’’ 

“And yet,” said Braxton, “may we not, if we choose, 
rise in an opposite direction with equal certainty and with 
equal ease?” 

“Undoubtedly we may,” answered Stanley, “ if we are 
only willing to pursue the right course. It is not so diffi- 
cult to get to heaven as some people imagine ; and yet the 
task is one which, on most occasions, is hard and severe 
to perform. The reason is that we wish to go to heaven 
in our own way, as the monarch would have preferred 
some royal road to knowledge ; but this is always sure to 
place us in a wrong position. We want to shape our 
course to bliss like men of cunning and business, calling 
to our assistance the insufficient help of forms and ceremo- 
nies, and surrounding ourselves by a thousand contriv- 
ances invented by pride and erudition, when we ought to 
learn with the simplicity of little children. A child’s 
spirit would be as light and buoyant as it is humble and 
docile, and would be certain to carry us aloft with the 
same rapidity that we are now so liable to be precipitated 
downward.” 

Braxton’s countenance brightened when he heard these 
words pronounced by his friend Stanley. He felt, indeed, 
that he was too proud, but he was persuaded that it was 
not impossible for him to become humble. He cherished a 
sincere desire to rise above the frailties of his nature, and 
he now thought that he saw how this might be done with- 
out foregoing the suggestions of his reason, or entangling 
himself with sophistries which might exercise his under- 
standing but could never improve his heart. 

These two individuals continued to travel in company 
until they reached the level piece of ground in the neigh- 
borhood of the mines, where were erected the tents of the 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


305 


workmen, whose time was principally occupied in attendinc^ 
to such amusements and pursuits as they believed would 
best help them to pass through the rainy season. The 
inconvenience arising from the fall of so much water had 
now in some measure ceased. For the last two or three 
days the rain had slackened, and gleams of sunshine some- 
times looked out from between the dark clouds, and spread 
a cheerful light over the face of the surrounding country. 
On the occasion of which we now speak especially the 
weather was unusually fine, and the sun had been shining 
nearly all day. This brought many of the workmen out 
of their tents, and gave a pleasing variety to their hitherto 
monotonous employments. Some amused themselves by 
wrestling or playing ball, others by pitching quoits, and 
others again by engaging in foot-races, or by shooting 
with rifles at a mark. But there were not a few who were 
seated before rude tables in front of their tents, and were 
deeply engaged at play for stakes, which, perhaps, in some 
instances, involved all that they were worth. 

“ It is strange,” said Mr. Stanley to Braxton, “that men 
will often hazard so much for that which, after it is ob- 
tained, they seem to value so little. A great majority of 
the individuals whom we see playing yonder are men who, 
no doubt, were brought up in comfort, if not in profusion. 
But they were dissatisfied with the moderate extent of 
their possessions, and they resolved to come to this coun- 
try in order that they might grow richer at least, if not 
happier. And although many of them have been disap- 
])ointed, yet some of them have realized their expectations. 
But what do we observe to be the consequence ? Do 
we find that they appreciate their hard-earned gains in 
proportion to the value they at one time seemed to set 
upon them, or to the hardships they have been compelled 
to encounter in their acquisition ? Like fortunes acquired 
under other circumstances, these acquisitions seem to con- 
fer but little true happiness on their possessors. And, 
what is stranger still, and what we do not so often observe 
in other instances, not only do these men not enjoy the 
wealth they have been at so much pains in acquiring, but 
they really would seem to set no value upon it. They 
gain it by hard toil to-day, and carelessly lose it at the 
gambling-table to-morrow.” 

26 * 


306 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


“I am strongly inclined to believe,” continued Mr. 
Stanley, “that there is a plain and important reason for 
this. It was never intended by the wisdom of Providence 
that men should grow suddenly and permanently rich, either 
by idle speculation, or by some artificial discovery in the 
process of experiment like that of the philosopher’s stone. 
The great end of man’s creation, we may readily perceive, 
is, that he might render himself constantly useful by dili- 
gent and active employment, and just in proportion as he 
thus fulfills the end of his being, make himself constantly 
happy. He that violates this universal law of nature can 
hardly expect to prosper. Hence we may see tliat men 
who grow suddenly rich, almost in all instances, are as 
suddenly deprived of their fortunes. They either esteem 
that of little value which has been acquired with so little 
labor, and therefore heedlessly suffer it to pass again from 
their possession, or they are deprived by some kind of 
fatality *of property which they have gained by means 
that did not justify the acquisition. The fruit that 
ripens too fast will be certain to perish with the same 
rapidity — a sudden inundation can never be expected to 
outlast the equable flowing of a gentle and silent stream. 
But the great principle would appear to be, that what we 
acquire without care and industry, we either will not or 
cannot make subservient to the purposes of lasting happi- 
ness. We either lose it ourselves or it is lost by our 
children.” 

Braxton thought he saw good reasons for acquiescing in 
the arguments advanced by Mr. Stanley, and soon after- 
ward the two friends parted, the latter continuing to pursue 
his way toward Sacramento City, and the former tarrying 
for a short period among the tents of the miners, with 
whom, in the course of his business transactions, he had 
contracted a pretty general acquaintance. 

When Agnes and Maggy returned to the mission station, 
and found themselves safely restored to the little apart- 
ment they occupied, they were both laboring, as might be 
expected, under considerable excitement. The occurrences 
they had just witnessed made a deep impression on their 
minds. The heart of Agnes especially was agitated by a 
great variety of emotions which rendered her thoughtful and 
restless, and which she found it impossible to restrict within 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 30t 

the limits of her own bosom. At last she gave vent to her 
feelings in the following language: 

“ The events that have just transpired before our eyes, 
Maggy, are such as may well occasion us no small degree 
of alarm. I must confess that they have caused me 
much pain and uneasiness, and I have no doubt have pro- 
duced the same effect on your own mind. And yet 1 have 
reason to believe that you remained ignorant of that which 
gave me the most alarm to-day, and about which I continue 
to entertain very great fear and anxiety. Did you know 
the person who escaped from the old house immediately 
after the catastrophe we witnessed in the rear of the 
building 

“ I certainly did not,” replied Maggy, “ although there 
seemed to be something in his movements to which I had 
not been an entire stranger.” 

“ That person was Percy Courtland.” 

Maggy started. “ You certainly do not mean what you 
say ?” she exclaimed. 

Yes, Maggy,” Agnes answered, “that individual, you 
may rest assured, was none other than Percy Courtland, 
your friend and mine, the same individual whom you met 
in distress in the City of New York, and who I am afraid 
has been forced to encounter still greater troubles here than 
those which he was exposed to when you saw him at that 
time.” 

“ But how, in the name of wonders,” said Maggy, “ did 
he find his way up into this country, and what was he doing 
among the ruins of that old house ?” 

“I could hardly answer that question,” rejoined Agnes, 
“ if I were to try, nor is it of much consequence that I 
should seek to gratify your curiosity if 1 could. Percy 
Courtland is in this neighborhood, Maggy, and I am un- 
happy.” 

“But why should you be unhappy?” asked Maggy. 
“Why not rather rejoice that you may now put yourself 
under the protection of one who will supply the place of 
your brother, and who will assist you in the discovery of 
him after whom you are so anxiously inquiring?” 

“Alas!” cried Agnes, “you. poor girl, are but little ac- 
quainted with the difficulties which attend his path as well 
as my own I Maggy, I feel a pressure on my bosom that 


308 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


is exhausting my strength and resolution. I have suffered 
much from disappointment, from privation, from hope de- 
ferred, from that destitution and loneliness in the world 
which is sufficient in itself to wear out and break the 
stoutest heart. I have borne the insults and indignities of 
a man whom I once only disliked, but now am brought 
against my will to fly from and hate. I have engaged 
with earnestness and affection in search after a brother 
whom I dearly love, and at the moment when I thought 
my fondest expectations were to be realized, all correspond- 
ence with that brother is cut off, and I am again compelled 
to wait, long and silent, in helplessness and hopelessness of 
heart, for new strength and new encouragement which per- 
haps I may never experience. And amid all this sickness 
and sorrow of spirit, methinks I could still find patience, if 
it were but the will of Heaven that I should suffer alone, 
and not involve others in my misfortunes. But when I 
reflect that I am the unwilling means of causing those who 
are innocent to bear a portion of my sorrows — when 1 think 
of you, Maggy — of my brother — of Percy Courtland — all 
made to share my own troubles — all doomed to suffer for 
my sake — my poor oppressed bosom feels its burden of 
grief with tenfold agony. I am almost ready to fly from 
myself, and to believe that my own heart is supremely self- 
ish. I am fearful that I possess little of that heroism and 
self-denial which I once thought engrossed so much of my 
love and admiration, and would be freely dedicated, if neces- 
sary, to the service of my fellow-mortals. Why do I not 
yield myself up at once for their sakes ? Why do I not 
make that sacrifice which would satisfy the angry spirit of 
him who now threatens to involve us all in one common 
ruin ? Why do I not comply with the terms on which 
Captain Lamberton would at once consent to free us from 
the dangers by which we are now threatened 

“ You might as well inquire why you are a woman and 
not an angel,” said Maggy. “ It is mighty wrong that 
you should not only be abused and persecuted by that un- 
mannerly captain, but that you should begin to reproach 
yourself with faults you are no more guilty of than the 
sun which shines above your head in the heavens.' Nay, if 
you were even an angel, it would not be your duty to 
make the sacrifice you speak of.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


309 


‘‘I wonder, ’’ asked Agnes, “ when the Committee meets 
of which we have heard so much Is.teiy?” 

“ I am not able to say,’’ observed her companion ; “ but 
I think it will be before many days shall pass over our 
heads.” 

‘‘ I have often flattered myself, Maggy, that we might 
then look for a termination of our sorrows. And yet who 
will say what that hateful man may be able to accomplish ! 
I am told that he exercises an influence among the people 
here that is almost irresistible. My poor brother — poor 
unhappy Percy — what will become of them ?” 

“You forget, my dear mistress,” answered Maggy, 
“ that we are not left alone. God has already raised us 
up friends who have shown us much kindness, and who 
have taken a deep interest in our welfare. He is able to 
bring us help from other sources, which may be the means 
not only of saving ourselves, but of defending and protect- 
ing those for whom you feel so much concern.” 

“ I thank you, Maggy, for rebuking my weakness, and 
reminding me of my duty. I ought indeed to feel more 
confidence in that unseen arm which is constantly out- 
stretched for our safety. My complaints and fears, I trust, 
have proceeded from but a momentary depression of 
spirits, which will cease as soon as the fit shall have 
passed away.” 

Agnes certainly attributed the weakness she had mani- 
fested in the presence of Maggy to its proper cause. But, 
as she herself had said, the fit was but momentary, and 
she immediately afterward recovered full possession of her 
wonted strength and resolution. “ I must take care,” said 
she to Maggy, “ how I yield up my courage hereafter, for I 
may yet have something to do as well as to suffer.” 

At that moment the old padre entered the apartment. 
He met the girls with a benignant smile, and with a counte- 
nance radiant with joy and gladness. “ I have good news 
to tell you,” said he, addressing himself to Agnes. “But 
alas, my child! what is the matter? You have been 
weeping.” 

“ It is all over now, good father,” replied Agnes. “ It 
was but a sudden fit of passion, which had passed away 
before you entered the apartment.” 

“And yet,” said the old man, “ there must have been 


310 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


some cause for your sorrow. Tell me what has happened 
to disturb your peace.” 

“ It was my intention to tell you all, without any re- 
quest on your part,” answered Agnes, “and I am only 
sorry that I should have betra3^ed my weakness so far as 
to have excited your concern on my account.” She then 
proceeded to give him a brief narrative of the adventures 
that had befallen Maggy and herself, a few hours before, 
at the old house. 

“ Be not alarmed, my daughter,” remarked the venera- 
ble father, “on account of what your eyes have witnessed 
to-day. I would have much rather, indeed, that it had not 
happened, but let us remember that, under the dispensa- 
tions of a merciful Providence, good is alwa^^s deduced 
out of evil. Whatever may be the designs of Captain 
Lamberton, we have every reason to believe that he will 
not ultimately prosper. In the mean time be particular in 
charging your memory with the conversation that passed 
between Blakely and Maxwell. It may be necessary that 
that conversation after awhile should be known to others 
as well as to yourself.” 

“But, father,” observed Agnes, “you remarked a few 
minutes ago that you had some good news to tell us. Let 
us hear what it is, for, after the anxiety we have passed 
through to-day, we really stand in need of something to 
gladden our hearts.” 

“ The news I have to communicate,” said the old man, 
“is not of a nature to impart immediate joy and consola- 
tion to your bosoms, but only as it alfords you a promise 
of happiness hereafter. I am directed to inform you that 
the Grand Committee meets in Sacramento City next week, 
and to request that you will consent to be present on that 
occasion. My own heart rejoices at the near approach of a 
meeting which I hope will, in its deliberations, not only ben- 
efit the community at large, but will be the immediate cause 
of your deliverance from the dangers and ditficulties which 
now surround your path. You are to be placed under my 
care, and await the pleasure of the Committee after you 
reach the city.” 

“ Alas, my good father I Could you but give me the as- 
surance that all will end well! Oh, that I could be fully 
persuaded that none will suffer on my account 1” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


311 


“ Let us hope for the best, my child !” was the answer of 
the venerable man. “Nothing is certain in this life except 
that God, who is incomprehensible, rules all things by his 
divine love and wisdom.” 

“ And therefore,” said Agnes, “ I ought to fear nothing.” 


CHAPTER XLYIL 

The friends of Agnes, at Courtland Hall and in its neigh- 
borhood, were, in the mean time, becoming more and more 
uneasy on account of the long silence which continued to 
involve the fate of those who were so dear to them in im- 
penetrable doubt and uncertainty. “ What,” was the con- 
stant exclamation of Thomas Russell, “has become of my 
daughter? When am I again to hear from my son ? After 
the hopes that were so lately kindled in my bosom, — 
after I was assured that I had found one of my children, 
and that both would soon be restored to my loving em- 
braces, — must it be my unhappy destiny to die childless 
at last?” At the same time Mr. and Mrs. Courtland were 
constantly employed in making similar lamentations about 
their absent child. “ Poor Percy !” they would say, 
“whither has he wandered ! What cruel hardships may 
he have been called to encounter in this cold and unfeeling 
world ! Surely, he has suffered long and suffered much, or 
some intelligence of him would have reached us before this 
time. Perhaps he is dead, or perhaps he has suffered more 
than death in the extremity of his grief and misfortunes. 
Poor Percy ! would to God we could speak with certainty 
of the fate of our noble boy !” 

It was while these unhappy parents were thus “ mourn- 
ing for their children, and refused to be comforted,” that 
they convened one morning in the small library-room be- 
longing to Mr. Courtland, to which we have before alluded 
on more than one occasion. Mrs. Truehope and her daugh- 
ter Clara formed a part of the same little circle. The 
morning was beautiful, and the wide and rich prospect 
which spread out in almost endless variety from one of the 


312 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


library windows, seemed to hold the latter in fixed and 
absorbing attention. At last she exclaimed to herself, — 

“ This is beautiful ! but somehow or other it is tenderly 
sad at the same time. I gaze around me, and drink in 
with delight the rich profusion that colors and adorns the 
extended landscape. The trees and woods — the hills and 
plains — the fountains and streams — are possessed of charms 
that the dullest fancy could scarcely behold without emo- 
tion, and the mighty expanse looks like a magnificent tem- 
ple rising spontaneously from the earth, and proclaiming 
the goodness and wisdom of its Divine Maker. But my 
longing eyes stretch beyond all this in the far distance, and 
I feel as if I would fain gaze on objects there that are ne- 
cessarily beyond the scope of my feeble vision And yet 
I cannot but indulge in thoughts about the things that 
exist, — about the forms that live and move, — under yon 
far distant sky. There, too, all must be bright and beau- 
tiful, as we behold the glowing landscape to be here. 
There, too, there are living beings like ourselves, exulting 
in joy or mourning in sorrow, laughing or weeping, as the 
sunshine or shade falls on their checkered pathway. There, 
too, perhaps, lives my lost one, — the child of my early joys 
and sorrows, — the light that my imagination would still 
follow through this dark vale of tears !’’ 

Clara turned away from the window with a sorrowful 
countenance. The form that her fancy had called into real 
life she thought she eould see beckoning her from beyond 
the limits of the landscape, but in another moment she was 
of course persuaded that it was altogether an illusion. She 
looked on those around her, and felt that she was in a dif- 
ferent part of the world. She knew that it was but a 
vision of her fancy that had passed before her, and that 
the pleasing dream must change again to the sternness and 
truth of real life. She clung, indeed, with credulous atfec- 
tion to the fond illusion, but before she could collect its 
scattered images it was dissipated and gone. 

“ My dear Clara,” said her mother, “ what are you think- 
ing about ? You almost look as if you had been conversing 
with beings of some other world.” 

“ Why, mother,” observed Clara, “your conjectures are 
not as far from the truth as might at first be supposed. 
I was, indeed, conversing with one who is absent — with 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


313 


one who in reality, perhaps, is the inhabitant of another 
world.” 

“But such thoughts, niy daughter, are not proper — 
they are not wise — and if persisted in they may be ex- 
pected to work a serious injury to your health and spirits.” 

“Alas!” exclaimed Mr. Russell, “ why, after all, should 
you deprive Clara of almost the only worldly consolation 
which the case she so bitterly mourns is now able to afford 
her ? She has lost her child, — why may not her spirit 
be permitted to commune with that child, whether he be in 
this world or the next — whether he be on earth or in 
heaven ?” 

“ It is always dangerous,” said Mrs. Truehope, “ to give 
the reins too freely to our imagination. It is more wise, I 
believe, and more manly too, to meet the realities of life, 
especially if these be dark and gloomy, with a proper spirit, 
than to indulge in fancied dreams of happiness in which 
there is no reality and no truth.” 

“And yet,” remarked Mr. Russell, “ our dearest hopes 
are not unfrequently but the fabrications of our dreaming 
fancies. Alas ! do you forbid me to indulge in visions 
that are so comfortable and soothing to the jaded and wea- 
ried spirits ? Will you deprive me of these angel visit- 
ants that are sent from the spirit-world to minister to and 
strengthen me ? I too have lost not one child only, but 
two. Will you say that I must yield to the reality of my 
sorrows with stoical indifference — that I must suffer the 
shock without a single sigh or groan — that I must hope 
for no reparation and no relief? May I not reclaim the 
forms of my children from foreign countries, from the in- 
hospitable wilderness, from the bed of sickness, from the 
grave itself, if in my eager fancy I have the power to do 
so ? May I not bid them pass before me as they did in 
brighter hours, and hold them again to my longing bosom? 
May not my spirit commune with theirs, and indulge in 
the promise of happier days — in the transports of a more 
perfect reunion ? Deprive me of these blessed visions and 
you deprive me of all that now sustains and comforts me 
in the world. I am wretched in the loss of my children, 
and am only happy again when I believe they live, and 
that I am folding them to my arms.” 

While Mr. Russell was uttering this pathetic appeal to 
27 ^ 


314 


IIENR Y CO UR TLAND ; 


those around him, Mrs. Courtland seemed to be laboring 
under a spasmodic motion of all the muscles of her body, 
which at last exhausted itself in a flood of tears. “ I 
think,” said she, “that our friend is right. This world 
would be dark and cheerless indeed — our hearts would 
grow beyond endurance sad and solitary, if the images 
we consecrate and enibalm there were connected with 
none but melancholy thoughts. But it is a relief to our 
bosoms when we are permitted to associate with the ob- 
jects of our love — to wander with- them in fields of light — 
to converse with them in the secret chambers which God 
has so mysteriously formed within our souls. Often and 
often do I think of our dear Percy as he looked when his 
living form moved over yonder fields — when his presence 
gladdened the domestic hearth — when he was merry and 
happy in this very room. Is it wrong for me to recall his 
image, now that he has become a wanderer over the earth? 
Is it wrong for me to lay hold on his spirit, now that his 
bodily presence is impossible ? Why should I not see him 
as I once saw him, in all the pride and beauty of youthful 
hope and yguthful ambition ? His material form, indeed, 
is absent, but his soul must be as truly inspired with life 
now as it ever was or ever will be in. the present world.” 

“ The questions which are so earnestly urged on this 
occasion,” answered Mr. Courtland, “as in all discussions 
of a similar nature, only go to show that there are faults 
on both sides. We ought, as Mrs. Truehope says, to avoid 
dwelling too long, if possible, on the memories of those 
who are near and dear to us, lest, by having our minds 
fixed too intently on some particular train of thought, we 
should find it impossible afterward to divest ourselves of 
visions which might lead at last to frenzy and madness. 
On the other hand, we may certainly be allowed to recall 
the forms and features, and especially the virtues, of those 
whom we once loved, provided we are not made thereby 
to strengthen our gloomy thoughts and to deepen our sor- 
rows. It is better sometimes to enter into the house of 
mourning than into the house of mirth ; and yet, by con- 
tinuing too long exposed to either influence, we may con- 
tract a disposition which will be decidedly injurious to our 
best interests,” 

“ I suppose we would be as wisely employed,” remarked 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


315 


Mr. Russell, “ by endeavoring to trace the causes which 
have led to the separation, and removing, as far as possi- 
ble, the obstacles which stand in the way of a reunion.” 

“ Certainly this would be our proper course,” answered 
Mr. Courtland, “ where such a reunion was desired, and 
was at all practicable. But in many cases, owing to a va- 
riety of circumstances, such a return to familiar intercourse 
would not be wished, and in others, however much it might 
be asked for, it could not be at all accomplished. In our own 
cases, for instance, of which we continue to make so much 
complaint, I am at a loss to know what could be done to 
restore us to the embraces of our children.” 

“Although nothing can be done,” replied Mr. Russell, 
“ yet' certainly something may be hoped for.” 

“Yes !” exclaimed Mr. Courtland, “that is all which is 
now left to us, but that is much. Hope — trust — an abiding 
confidence in the goodness of the divine will — what more 
could we desire to sustain us under the afflictions of life ?” 

“ And should our hopes be realized,” said Mrs. True- 
hope, “then would come the happy period of fruition.” 

“ Ay !” cried Mr. Russell, “ I have sometimes thought 
of that. “ What a glorious feast — what music and danc- 
ing should we have — could we see our children again re- 
stored to the embraces of those by whom they are so well 
loved, and whom they love so w^ell in return.” 

“ Such a joyful period as that,” observed Mrs. Court- 
land, with a hysterical laugh, “ I am afraid would be more 
than my poor nerves could bear. The very mention of it 
causes my heart to beat with a pulsation so audible that 
it alarms me even now.” 

“We would all no doubt labor under great emotion,” 
remarked Clara, “ and yet how sweetly would those emo- 
tions die away into the calm serenity of loving and peace- 
ful hearts. How soon would we forget our intensest 
thoughts, and all our feelings be hushed into a state of quiet 
and permanent peace !” 

“Well, now,” said Mr. Courtland, “you are all doing 
bravely at last. I must confess that my own spirits were 
a little while ago suffering from the discouragements which 
I saw in yourselves, but now 1 am comforted with the 
assurance that you are not only learning how to bear your 
sorrows patiently, but that we may all look forward to the 


316 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


future with hope. Why, look you, friend Russell,” he ex- 
claimed, directing his observations more particularly to 
that individual, “ you know that 1 am sometimes a little 
vain of my skill in agriculture, and that my favorite 
hobby is this farm, on which I have bestowed the labor of 
nearly a lifetime, and which I am fond of exhibiting to all 
who are willing to indulge me in nry favorite boast. Now, 
I cannot help saying that I feel as if I should yet live to 
have one of my strongest wishes gratified, and that is, to 
bring the land 1 am cultivating to still greater perfection, 
so that when j\gnes and Alfred shall be again restored to 
your arms, and my own dear Percy too shall have returned 
from his wanderings, I may be able to show them all how 
much may be accomplished by calm, steady, patient perse- 
verance at home.” 

“ Indeed, neighbor Courtland,” replied Mr. Russell, “ I 
hope you will believe me when I say, that my most ardent 
wish and prayer is that your vanity in this particular, which 
I am disposed to think is almost or altogether excusable, 
may be fully gratified, as well on your own account as for 
the sake of all who are interested in a result so desirable. 
But, listen I I do believe that Harry and Rowland, who are 
engaged in putting the piece of ground in order that lies 
nearest to the orchard, are busily discussing precisely the 
same subject which has occupied so much of our own 
attention for the last hour.” 

The little group assembled in the library now became 
silent, and were somewhat surprised to hear the two per- 
sons alluded to conversing together in the following lan- 
guage : 

“ I tell you, Harry,” said Rowland, “ we must give this 
part of the farm such a dressing as it never had before. 
We must positively make it the garden-spot of this whole 
country.” 

‘‘And why, my good friend Rowland,” returned Harry, 
“ are we so particularly to respect this spot above all 
others ?” 

“ J ust because,” answered Rowland, “ it is the spot which 
above all others was loved most by Percy, and which he 
always took the greatest pains to cultivate with his own 
hands. We must have it in as good order when he returns 
as it was when he left it.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


S11 


“ But how do you know that Percy will return at all 
observed Harry. We have not heard from him for many 
long months, and I am afraid, Rowland, we shall never 
hear from him again.” 

“ Not hear from hint again ?” exclaimed Rowland. “ Blow 
me, Harry, if you are not as bad as your mother, who, 
bless her kind, soft heart, always looks on the dark side of 
things. I tell you, Harry, that I am as sure of seeing 
Percy again as I am that I see you now working in this 
field. And there is Agnes, too. Why, they are as certain 
to come together as if they were already standing to be 
married in the presence of the minister.” 

‘‘ Nonsense, Rowland !” said Harry. “ It seems to me 
you are only dreaming.” 

“ Dreaming, did you say ? Why, that is the very thing, 
Harry. My dreams are just the true pictures that place 
the whole matter before me in clear light. I dreamt three 
times handrunning during last Christmas week that Percy 
and Agnes had returned home, and were married, and that 
they were living happily together in yonder old mansion, 
which still went by the name of Courtland Hall. And 
then I thought your father was dead, and I had grown 
old, and could no longer labor as I do now, and that they 
built a snug little cottage for me to live in at the side of 
the running stream just where it enters the meadow. 
Blow me, Harry, do you suppose I dreamt all that for 
nothing?” 

“ Why, I suppose the dreams were pleasant enough as 
long as they lasted,” said Harry, “but I am inclined to 
believe that is the only benefit you can expect to derive 
from them. It would hardly turn out, I imagine, that 
they would think of building a snug little cottage for an 
old bachelor.” 

“And supposing I am a bachelor, Harry, is that any 
reason why I should not be made comfortable in my old 
days ? Blow me, Harry, if I think you have half as much 
feeling for me as you ought to have.” 

/ “Hush, Rowland,” cried Harry, “or I shall begin to 
imagine that as you grow older you are becoming more 
peevish. I am sure if your dreams could restore Percy 
and Agnes to their homes, nothing would give me greater 
pleasure than to see you not only furnished with a cot- 

27 =^ 


318 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


tage, but with a palace too, if that would do you more 
good.” 

“ Now that is speaking something to the purpose,” 
answered Rowland. “ I thought you loved me, Harry, 
and I now feel — indeed I have always felt — that you wish 
to see me happy. But, blow me, Harry, I am sure that I 
would be just as happy — nay, that I would be greatly 
more happy — in a cottage than I would be in a palace.” 

“It is very likely,” returned Harry, “ and therefore we 
shall have no difficulty in trying to oblige you ! And in 
order, Rowland, that you may be convinced not only of 
my love, but of the respect I entertain for your own judg- 
ment, I am here ready to join with you in bringing this 
spot of ground to as much perfection as possible.” 

“ Thank you ! thank you !” returned Rowland. “And 
you may expect to receive the thanks of Percy, too, the 
moment he returns home, and finds that you have so 
kindly remembered him.” 

The little band of mourners, who had been trying so im- 
perfectly to console each other in the small apartment of 
the library, were no less comforted than amused by hear- 
ing this simple discourse that passed between Harry and 
the old laborer, who counted so much on the certain fulfill- 
ment of his dreams. Indeed, scarcely anything could have 
happened at that time more calculated to impart joy and 
encouragement to their bosoms. They could, it is true, 
scarcely have owned that they had the least faith in Row- 
land’s predictions, and yet such is the weakness of the 
human heart that, in seeking for consolation, it is often 
induced to lay hold of probabilities, no matter how trifling 
and childish, on which to hang its highest hopes of future 
happiness. If we are not absolutely superstitious, we 
may at least be flattered or alarmed by an interpretation 
given to some ordinary event, which is solely dictated by 
our secret hopes or fears, by feelings which we are neither 
willing to own nor wholly able to suppress. It was so 
in this instance. The company in the apartment of the 
library separated, quite as much cheered by the confident 
predictions of Rowland, as they had at first been discour- 
aged by the sadness and gloom of their own imaginations. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


319 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

The important day at length arrived when the Grand 
Committee were to hold their deliberations in Sacramento 
City. The clouds that had long moistened the earth and 
the air with a deluge of water had passed away, the 
weather had become exceedingly fine, and the roads in 
every direction, to and from the city, were again in a con- 
dition to be used by the traveler. Although the popula- 
tion of California at that time was but small, and scattered 
over a considerable extent of country, yet as a great part 
of it was now concentrating at a point of but little magni- 
tude, and which could afford but few accommodations, 
there was an appearance at least of great activity, if not of 
overwhelming numbers. It was soon ascertained that most 
of the parties we have had occasion to name in our narra- 
tive were lodged in the city. Captain Lamberton had 
arrived a day or two before, sullen, fierce, and ungovern- 
able in his temper, and betraying that recklessness and 
eccentricity in his manners which had become a matter of 
observation to all his familiar acquaintances, but at the 
same time with an apparently bustling relish for and de- 
votion to business. Braxton was there at his instance, as 
well as on account of others, showing some anxiety in his 
countenance, but not without a corresponding degree of 
courage and resolution. Molton Fairview and his friend, 
Darsie Hopkins, felt a deep interest in the inquiries that 
were about to be instituted concerning the loss which it 
was said the Committee had sustained in consequence of 
their confiding the transportation of their treasure to the 
care of Percy Courtland, and they appeared on the spot on 
his account as well as on account of Agnes Russell, whose 
fate they understood was intimately connected with his 
own. Blakely and Maxwell were prompt in attending as 
the witnesses of Captain Lamberton, who principally relied 
on their testimony for the accomplishment of his schemes 
of iniquity. Mr. Stanley and his daughter were by no 


320 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


means unconcerned observers of what was going on, and 
were waiting with intense interest for the result of an in- 
vestigation in which, they had reason to believe, the peace 
and happiness of their friend Agnes Russell were so deeply 
implicated. Other parties were expected to make their 
appearance in due time, so that every necessary step 
seemed to have been taken for an immediate examination 
of the case that was about to come before the Committee. 

Before that body had assembled for the purpose of for- 
mally attending to the duties of their office, Braxton was 
induced to seek for a private interview with Agnes Rus- 
sell. That lady, with her companion Maggy, as we have 
seen, had been placed under the guardianship of the old 
padre, and was now again sharing the company of her 
former friend, Letitia Stanley, who was lodged with her 
in the same apartment of the hotel But the interview 
which Braxton desired was easily effected. Letitia and 
Maggy withdrew into the room occupied by the old padre, 
and Braxton was thus left to converse with Agnes in a 
manner that was perfectly agreeable to his own wishes. 

He commenced by saying, “ I trust. Miss Russell, that 
you are ready to repose the fullest confidence in one who 
has ever felt a deep and abiding interest in your welfare. 
The time has come when circumstances require that I 
should act toward you with unreserved openness and can- 
dor, and reveal to you everything. Hitherto it has been 
out of my power to do more than watch the progress of a 
series of events in which indeed I knew you to be deeply 
concerned, and in regard to which I' have matured my own 
plans, but which I had no means of influencing or control- 
ling without exposing your person, your character, and 
your future welfare to imminent danger. But these 
events, in which two other individuals are as deeply con- 
cerned as yourself, are now drawing to a crisis, a crisis 
that may possibly prove fatal to the persons to whom I 
have just alluded, and which you alone may be able to 
avert.” 

It will be readily conceived that the mind of Agnes 
became greatly agitated and alarmed on hearing this de- 
claration. “For Gfod’s sake, Mr. Braxton,” she exclaimed, 
“ let me understand you I proceed at once to a disclosure 
of your meaning !” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


321 


“ Then, thus I am compelled to speak,” said Braxton. 
“ Captain Lamberton has charged your brother and Percy 
Courtland, before the Committee now assembled in this 
place, with an offense which, if they should be found 
guilty, will expose them to disgrace and imprisonment at 
least, and, what would be ten times worse, perhaps to the 
vengeance of the infuriated populace. That this charge is 
as false as it is infamous I am well aware, and you as well 
as myself may readily know the motives which urge him 
to the perpetration of such unprincipled villainy. His 
great object is either to force you into a marriage contract, 
or ruin your peace of mind forever by destroying the char- 
acters of those whom he knows you love and esteem so 
highly. How far he may be able to succeed in accom- 
plishing this latter object it is utterly out of my power to 
tell. I have done all I could to prevent it. But I am 
compelled to say, that the government of this country is 
weak and inefficient; that the laws, such as they are, 
afford but an uncertain protection to the innocent ; and 
that Captain Lamberton is well known to exercise an in- 
fluence over a majority of this Committee w^hich we may 
fear will operate so as to defeat the ends of justice. Should 
he be able to bring about this unhappy result, one of two 
sacrifices must take place. Either your brother and your 
friend will be compelled to suffer the utmost extremity of 
his vengeance, or Agnes Russell must save them the 
dreadful penalty by becoming the bride of Captain Lam- 
berton.” 

“Alas, Mr. Braxton !” cried Agnes, “the declaration you 
now so seriously and frankly make would be sad and over- 
whelming indeed but for the gradual preparation my mind 
has been undergoing to meet it. I have for a long while 
not only suspected Captain Lamberton’s baseness, but 
have really had an indistinct knowledge of the cruel 
measures to which it would in all probability lead him. 
But oh, my brother! my poor Alfred! I did not know 
that he was to -be sacrificed. No, I was not aware of that. 
I listened, indeed, to the cruel threats uttered by that proud, 
bad man, but I did not suffer myself to credit what he 
said. I could not believe that he possessed a heart suffi- 
ciently bold and atrocious to seek to carry his threats into 
execution. But he is cunning — he is wealthy — he is pow- 


322 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


erful. He may be able to accomplish much — much that 
my poor heart is too simple to understand — much that I 
may be too feeble to counteract or remedy !” 

“ Let us hope for the best, Miss Russell. Only say you 
will do what you can for your brother — that you will seek 
to save poor Percy — that you will summon all your strength 
to meet the exigency that may arise to try your fortitude 
and your love.” 

“ And have I not said so ? Oh, Mr. Braxton ! am I not 
prepared for the sacrifice, costly, terrible, agonizing as it 
may be ! Put me to the test ! Go summon Captain Lam- 
berton to my presence — let him propose his terms of com- 
promise — let him exact the full price at which he values 
his peace and friendship. See with what smiles I will be 
able to meet him. Why, I will humbly fall down at his 
feet, and promise to submit to all his exactions, if he but 
speaks one gentle word in favor of my dear brother — if he 
but exercises his slightest influence in behalf of ” 

Here Agnes paused, and sutfered the strong feelings of 
her bosom to find vent in a flood of tears. Braxton saw 
that she was too much troubled to endure the anguish of 
any further conversation. Using, therefore, every means 
in his power to calm the extreme grief under which he dis- 
covered she was laboring, and assuring her that he was 
entirely satisfied with the readiness she expressed to do all 
that might be required of her in case of necessity, he took 
leave of her under an emotion of the strongest kind, and 
left the apartment. 

In a few minutes afterward the room was entered by • 
Letitia Stanley and Maggy. Agnes had become more calm, 
but was still suffering from the extreme agitation to wliich 
she had been exposed while conversing with Braxton. 

‘‘Ah, Miss Letitia 1” she said, “ 1 must really apologize 
to you for my disordered and melancholy appearance. I 
hope you will excuse me. I once thought I possessed a 
sufficient share of courage and fortitude to meet all my 
troubles with calmness, but we only know how weak we 
are when sorrow stares us right in the face. But help me, 
Letitia, to overcome these infirmities. Say that I have not 
lost all my courage, and that my present weakness is but 
owing to a temporary fit of low spirits. Do not let me be- 
lieve that my tears are childish and effeminate. I feel as 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


323 


if I ought to be strong and courageous, for every day I 
stand in need of increased strength and courage to meet my 
increased difficulties. Teach me, my dear Letitia, how to 
meet them like a martyr and a Christian.” 

“Alas!” cried Letitia, “how shall a young and simple 
girl like me attempt to instruct one who is so well calculated 
to be my own guide and teacher ? I cannot forget my in- 
debtedness to you for lessons which you have inculcated 
for my benefit on so many occasions, and which were as 
kindly dictated by your tongue as they were more vigor- 
ously enforced by your example. It would ill become me 
to do more than attempt to instruct you by your own wis- 
dom. Follow the prescriptions which you laid down to me 
when we were both laboring under the disagreeable effects 
of sea-sickness. You are now sick at heart. Struggle 
against it with all your might, as you advised me to strug- 
gle when I was about to yield to the terrible malady which 
deprived me of hope and courage at sea. Fight it out 
bravely, as you then told me to do, and you will be sure to 
come off victorious.” 

“ But are you not convinced that I am a coward, Letitia ? 
I once thought, indeed, that I was possessed of an ordinary 
share of resolution. But oh ! I feel now as if I had nothing 
to boast on that score.” 

“ And it is that unreasonable doubt that constitutes your 
greatest weakness. Fight against it. Miss Russell, and 
you will be sure to overcome it, just as every other evil 
suggestion may be conquered by resolving not to regard it.” 

“ Then you admit that I have the ability to fight, and 
am no coward ? Thank you, my friend, for an admission so 
encouraging. I had almost despaired of my own strength, 
but I will now hope that I may not falter, even should the 
sacrifice required be greater than any I have yet been called 
to make.” 

It was evident that during the whole of the interview 
thus held with Braxton and with Miss Stanley, the soul of 
Agnes Russell was so exercised with conflicting emotions, 
that it was pierced, as it were, to the very center. But she 
now rose, looked calmly on Letitia and on Maggy, and 
walked confidently forward, like one who has received 
strength from a new resolution. She again became the 
animating spirit that gave firmness and courage to her 


324 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


friends. “We may have much yet to suffer,” said she to 
Maggy, “ but let us be of good cheer. They that sow in 
tears may hope to reap in joy.” 


CHAPTER XLTX. 

On the first day of the meeting of the Grand Committee 
at Sacramento City little more was done than to attend to 
the preliminary measures of bringing it into a thorough 
organization. But the next day the meeting was declared 
to be ready for the transaction of business. Its delibera- 
tions were to take place in a room fitted up for a temporary 
purpose, but which was sufficiently capacious to accommo- 
date all the members who were present on the occasion. 
On each side of the President’s chair seats were arranged 
in the form of a narrow gallery, which were purposely ex- 
tended to accommodate the ladies, and such other visitors 
as were supposed to be entitled to a little more than ordi- 
nary respect. 

No one appeared to be more absorbed in the affairs of 
the Committee than did Captain Lamberton. He con- 
versed freely with the members whose seats were in close 
proximity with his own, and sometimes made it his object 
to pass round from seat to seat, with the evident design 
of causing his influence to be felt in every part of the house. 
At last the order of business was named for that day, 
which was announced to be the investigation of charges 
brought against Percy Courtland. 

Some objection was made to this on the part of two or 
three members who were not under the immediate influence 
of Captain Lamberton. It was urged that the defendant, 
who was absent, was expected every moment to appear in 
proper person, and that it would be violating every prin- 
ciple of order and justice to attempt to proceed with the 
investigation without giving him an opportunity of making 
a defense. To this Captain Lamberton replied that the 
defendant had been permitted to roam at large contrary to 
what had been the usual order of the Committee on shni- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


325 


lar occasions, that it was not certainly known whether he 
would ever a‘^ain make his appearance before them, and 
that if it was his intention to do so, he ought to have post- 
poned every other engagement for the purpose of affording 
him an opportunity to appear before them that morning. 

It was then urged in the second place that Governor 
Cartwright, who was an important witness for the defend- 
ant, was likewise absent, and that gross injustice would 
be done to the defendant without giving him a chance of 
producing that gentleman before the Committee. 

To this it was again answered by Captain Lamberton, 
that Governor Cartwright was not expected in town until 
the latter part of the week, and that if Mr. Courtland had 
neglected to secure his testimony in time, that was no rea- 
son that the deliberations of the Committee should be de- 
layed He was bound to abide by the consequences of his 
own neglect. 

The opposition of Lamberton and his partisans prevailed 
against a feeble minority, and it was decided by an over- 
whelming vote of the members present to proceed in the 
investigation. 

The first witness produced against Percy Courtland was 
Martin Blakely. He testified to the fact of having been 
at the house of Saunders on the night that Percy lodged 
there on his way to San Francisco. He stated that he 
saw him when he arrived with the box that contained the 
gold he had charge of, — that another person had arrived just 
before him with a box of a similar make and appearance, 
and had encamped at the edge of the wood, at a short dis- 
tance from the house, — that on Percy’s first arrival he 
committed the box to the care of the landlord, but after- 
ward took it up with him to his sleeping apartment, — that 
he saw the stranger who had encamped at the edge of the 
wood depart in the morning with the box Percy had in 
his possession the evening before, and that Percy took with 
him the box which Blakely had seen in the custody of the 
stranger when he first arri 4*1 at the public inn. He went 
on to give the additional '6^^' once of having been present 
when the box was delivered by its carrier to Captain Lam- 
berton, that he knew it to be the same which was ex- 
changed for the other that had been brought to the public 
house by the stranger, and that the amount of gold which 

28 


326 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


it contained did not at all correspond with the written cer- 
tificate brought by the bearer. 

Very few questions were put to Blakely on his cross-ex- 
amination. He was asked by one or two of the members 
of the Committee, whether he was sure that the box which 
Percy took away with him in the morning from the tavern 
was the same that the stranger brought with him the night 
before. But no one inquired whether he knew how the 
exchange had been effected, and how one of the boxes came 
to be substituted for the other. 

The testimony of Maxwell, in its general import, did not 
differ much from that of his confederate, Blakely. He in- 
formed the Committee, however, that all boxes made in 
California for the purpose of transporting gold were shaped 
precisely alike, but that those belonging to the Committee, 
and which were used for the purpose of carrying their treas- 
ures to the bank in San Francisco, had on them a private 
mark which made it easy to identify them from all others. 

The next witness called on was Braxton. He was placed 
before the Committee by Captain Lamberton with a 
satisfied air, as if he felt that whatever might be said or 
imagined against the characters of the other two witnesses 
who had just been examined, this one at least would give 
his testimony entirely free from all suspicion, and would add 
undoubted confirmation to the truth of that which had 
already been received. On the other hand, several of the 
friends of poor Percy Courtland who were present, were 
equally certain that the testimony of Braxton would 
operate in his favor, and they waited in breathless anxiety 
to hear what-he had to say. It was evident that that indi- 
vidual, when called to the stand as a witness, was laboring 
under emotions which had a visible effect on his person. 
His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his countenance 
wore an uneasy and restless look. He was called by Lam- 
berton to bear testimony to the amount of gold contained 
in the case which had been delivered by Percy at the bank 
in San Francisco. This testimony agreed with what the 
other witnesses had stated, h\ifj was delivered by Braxton 
in a manner that seemed strongly to imply that he had 
something more to say. He was watched by many of the 
members of the Committee with anxious expectation, but 
those outside who knew him to be the friend of Percy 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


327 


Courtland, regarded his words and looks with a still more 
intense interest. They thought every moment that he was 
about to say something in addition. They leaned over to 
catch the words they were sure he was going to utter — 
they looked at each other and then at him — and were 
ready to call on him for an open avowal of all he knew. 
Braxton pondered, hesitated, directed his eyes first toward 
the President of the Committee, and then toward Lamber- 
ton. At last he retired from the stand like one who was 
not entirely satisfied with his own conduct, and who was 
puzzled about something he was unable to see clearly in 
his own mind. 

When Braxton got fairly disengaged from the duty he 
was called on to perform for the Committee as a witness, 
and was observed to be again seated in the narrow gallery 
which had been constructed for the accommodation of 
spectators, it was noticed that Captain Lamberton sighed 
forth a deep expiration from his lungs, and now seemed 
able to breathe more freely than he had done a few 
minutes before. His next movement was to claim the 
attention of the Committee to his own declarations as a 
witness. But it is unnecessary that we should detain the 
reader with a statement of what his evidence was on that 
occasion. It amounted in substance to precisely the same 
representation that was made by Braxton. The truth is, 
that Captain Lamberton, with all his distortion of mind 
and feeling — with all his desperate love of worldly riches 
and worldly gratification — felt a strong repugnance to enter 
on an open and deliberate violation of those principles of 
religion and morality which it had been the attempt of his 
instructors to instill into his mind from his earliest years. 
Perhaps it was a regard for the good opinion of this world 
— perhaps it was a fear for the punishment of the next — but 
whatever were the considerations by which he was influ- 
enced, he shrunk from the idea of calmly and coolly violating 
the truth in his own person. Like thousands of other indi- 
viduals who are desirous of observing a decent exterior 
before men, he was capable of resorting to the grossest 
sophistry — he could reason himself into all kinds of follies 
and absurdities — he could make the worse appear the 
better reason — yet he ever abstained from an open and 
willful violation of those obvious rules of conduct which 


328 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


bind the human race together into one family. He would 
not bear false witness — that he knew might expose him to 
the penalties of both earth and Heaven — but he was willing 
to harass and persecute poor Agnes Kussell — he was will- 
ing, for the sake of accomplishing his iniquitous purposes, to 
wrong and imprison poor Percy Courtland — he was willing 
to contract the inward disposition and character of a fiend, 
while he persuaded himself at the same time that his conduct 
was excusable, as not only belonging to a man of the world, 
but to what he would call a gentleman and a Christian. 

While Laraberton was engaged in giving his testimony 
before the Committee, Braxton was observed to slip down 
from his seat, and retire with Mr. Stanley to a deep recess 
at the farther end of the hall, where the two entered into a 
very close and earnest conversation. In a short time they 
called to their assistance Molton Fairview and Darsie 
Hopkins. After a few more minutes’ deliberation the parties 
separated, as if they had agreed on some conclusion by 
which they resolved to be guided in future. 

With the declarations made by Captain Lamberton the 
testimony closed on the part of the Committee. The 
friends of the accused were then called on to enter on a de- 
fense of their client if they had any to make. To this in- 
vitation it was immediately answered by Darsie Hopkins, 
who now made a public avowal of espousing the cause of 
his friend, that they had no testimony to offer in his behalf. 
He remarked that they had been waiting in anxious expec- 
tation every moment to see Mr. Courtland appear in that 
hall, and assume the management of his cause in person — 
that they believed him to be entirely innocent of the offense 
laid to his charge — that a most unscrupulous malignity 
was at the bottom of the prosecution which was so inde- 
cently urged against him — that it would be in vain to 
attempt to offer testimony in his- favor unless he himself 
could be present, and would have an opportunity of con- 
fronting the charges that had been laid before the Com- 
mittee — and that if this was refused him, there was no 
alternative left but that his case should be submitted at 
once to a vote of the tribunal, before whom it was pretended 
it had been fairly heard and tried. 

In reply to this statement made by Hopkins, the Presi- 
dent of the Committee had very little to say — indeed, he 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


329 


seemed to accede to the truth of what had fallen from the 
mouth of the speaker. But he went on to remark, that 
the time of the Committee ought not to be wasted by 
listening to arguments that were unsound, because they 
were brought forward for the sole purpose of justifying the 
culpable negligence of the defendant. “ If he choose to 
suffer judgment to go by default, that was a matter of his 
own seeking, and with which the Committee had as little 
to do as the man in the moon.” 

With this unfeeling remark on the part of the President, 
the case of Percy Courtland was immediately submitted 
to a vote of the Committee, who almost unanimously pro- 
nounced him to be guilty of the charges specified in the 
information which had been lodged against him. 

The course adopted and pursued by Percy’s friends was 
the one which had been agreed on between them, after 
holding the short consultation in the recess of the hall to 
which we have alluded above. They clearly saw that as 
the Committee was at present organized and influenced, 
no testimony within the power of Percy’s friends to offer 
was likely to have the slightest effect on the minds of its 
members. It was thought best, therefore, to forego every 
attempt at making a defense before them, it being con- 
sidered that it would be much more prudent to offer their 
testimony altogether, should anything providentially trans- 
pire thereafter to secure to Percy a fair and impartial 
trial. 

But this latter contingency was hardly to be expected. 
A loud clamor was made at once, especially by Captain 
Lamberton, for the final sentence and condemnation of the 
absent defaulter, whose conviction it was said had been 
legally pronounced by competent authority. Although it 
was known that in ordinary cases no criminal could be sen- 
tenced before his body was held under arrest and produced 
in court, yet in this case it was insisted that the forms of 
law might be so far departed from as to pronounce the 
final sentence in the absence of the defendant. 

That doom the President was about to pronounce. He 
remarked “ that he could see no reason for delaying the 
sentence a single moment. The sooner the defendant 
should be disposed of the better. They had little time enough 
to attend to the public interests, and this matter ought not 

28 * 


330 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


to interfere with the other business of the Committee.” 
Having made these remarks, he was about to read the sen- 
tence, when he was interrupted by Mr. Stanley. 

He begged that the sentence might be postponed until 
the last day of the week. He said that “ he had reason 
to believe Mr. Courtland would make his appearance 
before that time ; and although it might avail him but 
little to do so, yet it would be more liberal at least, if not 
more orderly and regular, to have the sentence pronounced 
on him in person.” 

The President remarked that he believed his mind was 
made up. He had fully come to the conclusion to sentence 
him at once. 

Stanley then fixed the period for pronouncing sentence 
at a still shorter distance. He begged that the defendant 
might be allowed three days for his appearance. 

“It will not do, Mr. Stanley,” said the President, “al- 
though for your sake I should like to be as accommoda- 
ting as possible.” 

“ I do not ask it for my sake,” answered Mr. Stanley, 
“but I ask it for the sake of public justice — for the sake 
of this Committee, whose proceedings should be humane 
and generous — for the sake of the absent young man, 
whose heart may be pure and innocent.” 

“ Well, well, Mr. Stanley,” said the President, “ you are 
a clergyman, and it becomes you to behave with mercy 
even toward the guilty. I do not see how this postpone- 
ment may in the least benefit the defendant. But, as I 
have said, I wish to be kind and generous for your sake, 
and, barring all further entreaty and remark on your part, 
I here agree to defer pronouncing sentence until to-morrow 
morning. Depend on it, Mr. Stanley, that no one but 
yourself could have prevailed with me, in this matter, to 
the same extent.” 

The friends of Percy Courtland were obliged to be 
satisfied. Although not completely successful, it was felt 
that something had been gained ; but they doubted very 
much whether it would lead to any good result at last. 
The only one whose hope remained firm and unshaken was 
Braxton. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


331 


CHAPTER L. 

On the memorable morning that had been fixed by the 
President of the Committee for pronouncing sentence on 
Percy Courtland, Braxton contrived to arrange an early 
interview with Agnes Russell. He was kindly permitted 
to confer with her in the apartment of the good padre, 
whose presence on that occasion was requested with his 
own. 

The conflict caused by contending emotions, whenever 
we are called to meet a slow and sorrowful trial of our 
faith and patience, is always greater through the several 
stages of its progress than it is at the culminating point 
when it is about to lead to some decisive issue. The 
struggle is felt to be less as we gradually lose sight of all 
intermediate objects, and our minds become occupied alone 
with the expected result. Instead of laboring now to ob- 
viate the danger which has so long threatened us, our only 
concern is to meet it with ability and firmness. It was 
precisely in this state of mind that Agnes Russell found 
herself on the morning that seemed so pregnant with dis- 
aster to her dearest hopes and wishes. Both Braxton and 
the padre were astonished at the courage and resolution 
she manifested on that occasion. Her countenance be- 
trayed tlie possession and enjoyment of an inward calm- 
ness and serenity, that imparted an additional interest to 
the extraordinary circumstances in which her fate seemed 
to be involved. She met her friends with the fixed deter- 
mination of a person whose resolution has been taken, and 
who has made up her mind to act rather than longer to 
hesitate or think. 

“ I have but a single request to make, Mr. Braxton,’’ 
said the courageous girl to her friend and benefactor. 
“ Leave me now to myself. Do not seek to instruct or 
advise me. I am prepared to appear before the Committee 
this morning, and to act that part which duty and con- 
science would seem to dictate.” 


332 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


“It is well,” said Braxton. “And yet the pious sacri- 
fice, which I believe you are so ready to ofifer, may be too 
costly even for the important reconciliation it is calculated 
to purchase. I have indeed urged you to make the offer- 
ing myself, and yet I can hardly tell whether in doing so 
I have not transcended the limits of both, reason and 
duty.” 

“You have acted in good faith,” Agnes replied, “and 
have but sought to carry out the dictates of your own 
generous nature. The rest, as I have said, remains with 
me. My only desire now is that I may be placed where I 
can witness the further proceedings of this Committee.” 

Agreeably to this request, and in accordance with what 
Braxton himself desired, it was agreed that Agnes should 
accompany the padre that morning, and take her seat in 
the gallery of the hall where the Committee was to 
assemble. 

At the appointed hour this singular tribunal became or- 
ganized for business. The President opened the court with 
quite a becoming degree of gravity, and having commanded 
the attention of the Committee before him, and indicated 
the sentencing of Percy Courtland as the first matter to be 
disposed of, he commenced his more regular and formal 
address to that body as follows, — 

“ But, gentlemen, before proceeding to the order of busi- 
ness I have mentioned, permit me to advert to one cir- 
cumstance which has an important bearing on the matter 
in question. Since the conviction of the defendant a vio- 
lent effort has been made by his friends to have the sen- 
tence postponed till some future period, and I suffered my 
own mind to be so far wrought upon as to consent to a 
delay of the sentence until this morning. But what, think 
you, is the additional evidence that has come to light since 
yesterday ? Why, that this very Percy Courtland, who 
would fain hold himself aloof from the jurisdiction and 
control of this Committee — who perhaps regards our au- 
thority with contempt — who by some strange infatuation 
has enlisted the sympathies of several of the members of 
this honorable body in his behalf — whose desire illegally 
to appropriate the property of others to his own use, is 
only equal to the confirmed malice which rankles in his 
wretched heart — I say that this very Percy Courtland, 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


333 


thus artful, dishonest, and malicious, after perpetrating the 
offense of which he has been fully convicted, has actually 
attempted the life of one of the members of this Com- 
mittee, and has added to his other vices the character of a 
murderer and assassin.’’ 

“ It is false!” exclaimed a voice outside of the bar, and 
which seemed to proceed from a person who was trying 
to make his way through the crowd, in order to place him- 
self in a situation where he could be more readily seen 
and heard by the President and members composing the 
Committee. 

“ What is the meaning of that unmannerly noise I 
hear?” shouted the President as soon as the sounds of the 
voice in the crowd reached his ear. “ Who is it that 
dares interrupt the deliberations of this honorable Com- 
mittee ?” 

‘‘ That I dare do,” said the bold intruder, who with a 
sudden bound placed himself directly in front of the Presi- 
dent’s chair. “You have already proceeded to condemn 
the innocent,” he continued, “ and not satisfied with that, 
you now seek to add further infamy to your iniquitous 
conduct by maliciously defaming the character of one 
who is denied the right of standing up in his own de- 
fense.” 

“ Take the offender into custody immediately,” cried the 
President to a sort of sergeant-at-arms, who was the officer 
appointed to preserve order in the Committee; “let him 
be brought before us, that he may undergo the penalty due 
to a contempt of this honorable court.” 

“ I am here, Mr. President, to answer for myself,” ex- 
claimed the obnoxious offender. “ I am ready to receive 
whatever sentence this tribunal may think my conduct has 
justly merited. But I have a right to ask that that sen- 
tence shall not be the result of any arbitrary will of your 
own. 1 appeal from your individual decisionto the gen- 
eral sentiment that may influence the minds of this whole 
Committee.” 

“Officer, place this refractory citizen under arrest,” 
reiterated the presiding functionary, in a still louder tone 
of authority. “ Bring him before me instanter. I am the 
organ of this body, to see that its deliberations be not dis- 
turbed, and that its claims be fully sustained before the 
world.” 


334 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


“And I,” rejoined his unflinching antagonist, “ feel that 
my rights are as dear and as sacred as your own, and that 
they may be boldly defended against the encroachment of 
unjust and arbitrary power. Hear me, Mr. President — 
hear me for the sake of that justice which has been out- 
raged in your person — for the sake of that community 
which has suffered so much from a cold, unfeeling, do- 
mestic tyranny — for the sake of that innate sense of op- 
pression which is always felt when the natural freedom 
of man is presumptuously invaded. I stand here to- 
day ’’ 

“Silence!” shouted the President again, with an ex- 
pression of spiteful rage and indignation. “ Cease your 
insane ravings about matters which you neither care for 
nor understand. Bring the prisoner forward, that he may 
become an example to others of the just judgment that 
awaits the guilty and rebellious.” 

“ Fellow-citizens,” exclaimed the offender, addressing 
his voice to the crowd outside, “ I am not a rebel — I am 
not a violator of the laws, or a disturber of the peace of 
society. I have seen the folly, the madness, the wicked- 
ness of self-willed and self-constituted tribunals of justice 
in this country. I have felt their cruelty and unmerciful- 
ness in my own person. I have been exposed to their in- 
sults — to their shocking barbarities — to their murderous 
thirst for blood — and was only rescued from the blind fury 
of a mob by an interference that was as remarkable as it 
was meritorious and successful. It is because I have felt 
all this and suffered all this that I now warn you against 
the tyranny and injustice of this tribunal, whose decrees 
and sentences would appear to be as iniquitous as those of 
the misguided and ignorant mob. It is because I am con- 
vinced of the innocence of the victim who is bound and 
prepared for the sacrifice that I now stand up in his de- 
fense. Here, in the presence of this assembled multitude 
— in the presence of this listening Committee — before the 
appointed head who presides over the deliberations of this 
body — in the face of that Heaven which knows the mo- 
tives and witnesses the actions of men — I pronounce the 
tribunal here organized to be partial, corrupt, and unauthor- 
ized, and I appeal to you, gentlemen, to protect your 
fellow-citizens — to save your children — to deliver your 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


335 


friends — from the effects of its corrupt and unholy pro- 
ceedings.” 

The President of the Committee, as we have seen, made 
two or three fruitless efforts to silence the individual who 
had thus boldly dared to stand up in defense of truth and 
justice, but that individual only became the more earnest 
and confident as he found himself exposed to a more fre- 
quent and determined interruption. At length, however, 
he appeared to rivet the attention of his listeners in all 
directions. The President himself, although boiling over 
with anger, seemed at a loss to know how to treat an 
offender of so much boldness and address. The members 
of the Committee stared at each other, as if they half be- 
lieved that what he was uttering with so much feeling had 
some foundation in truth. But the effect of his harangue 
was still more sensibly felt by the crowd of eager listeners, 
who on all sides thronged the avenues of the court-room. 
It was principally on this account that the members of the 
Committee were restrained from proceeding at once to ex- 
tremities with the bold and fearless adventurer. They 
dreaded the fury of the mob even more than they did the 
enmity and revenge of Captain Lamberton. They very 
well knew what slight circumstances might induce the 
multitude to pursue a course diametrically opposite to that 
which, perhaps, they had taken on some other occasion; and 
the dread of such an issue, together with their own appre- 
hension of the truth of what the speaker had uttered, caused 
them to observe a profound silence after he had brought 
his short but energetic appeal to a conclusion. 

It was evident to all present that Captain Lamberton was 
becoming alarmed at a state of things that might possibly 
interfere very materially with his sinister and selfish pro- 
jects. There was a restlessness and concern depicted in 
his countenance that plainly betrayed the misery of his 
mind. He conversed eagerly and anxiously with his fel- 
low-members of the Committee, but did not seem to excite 
the sympathy, or receive the hope and encouragement, 
which his former communications with the same persons 
gave him reason to expect. Many began to suspect, what 
indeed had been growing plainer every day, that the un- 
bounded influence he once exercised over the minds of his 
companions was gradually changing into a settled opposi- 


336 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


tion to his views and principles. The wild, importunate, 
and incoherent manner which had marked his behavior 
for some time past, seemed to lend strong confirmation to 
these impressions, although none, as yet, felt sufficiently 
bold to hazard an open expression of opinion in contradic- 
tion to his own. 

During the pause that took place at this stage of the 
Committee’s proceedings, the President himself, as we 
have seen, seemed to be at a loss to know what course it 
would be best for him to pursue. Although he had just 
before made use of terms that were so entirely indignant, 
and had clamored incessantly for the arrest and condemna- 
tion of the person who had so boldly confronted him, 3^et 
when the intruder ceased speaking, his own voice appeared 
to have become suddenly paral^’zed. He gazed round him 
for a moment in distraction and terror. Perhaps he too 
was apprehending danger from the multitude outside, who 
he could not but believe were watching his movements 
with intense interest, and who were possibly suffering their 
feelings to become enlisted in favor of law and liberty. 

But Lamberton could no longer restrain himself. Spring- 
ing to his feet with a sudden impulse — his eyes wildly 
glaring on the object of the court’s displeasure — his fists 
clinched — his countenance inflamed — he cried out at the 
top of his voice, — “ Seize the base reviler, who has dared 
to profane with his unhallowed lips this sanctuary of jus- 
tice. Seize him, 1 say ! Mr. President, why do we sit 
quietly here and suffer ourselves to be bullied into submis- 
sion by a caitiff — by a wretch whose life was once forfeited 
to the just claims of popular fury and indignation ? Seize 
him and punish him on the spot!” 

“ Let the hall be cleared !” exclaitned the President in 
great anger and trepidation. “ Officer I call to your assist- 
ance a strong police, and clear the court immediately 1” 

But at that moment Darsie Hopkins rushed from the 
gallery into the arena below. Fellow-citizens,” he cried, 
“we claim a moment’s further audience. You are free- 
men, and are fully privileged to witness the deliberations of 
this assembled Committee. You are just men, whose duty 
it is to protect your own rights, and to defend the rights 
of your neighbors, if necessary, against the tyrant and op- 
pressor. Suffer not yourselves to be imposed upon by the 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


33T 

exercise of an arbitrary authority, which has no founda- 
tion either in law or in reason.” 

“ Treason !” shouted two or three voices at once in the 
Committee. 

“ Gentlemen, I am no traitor,” returned Hopkins. “ I 
but claim the privile«^e of defending my own person, and 
the persons of my fellow-citizens, against a usurpation of 
power, which is seeking to deprive us of our dearest 
rights, and to render us the willing slaves of unprincipled 
demagogues.” 

“ Let the traitors be arrested and punished !” exclaimed 
Lamberton. “ Officers of the court, we call on you to do 
your duty!” ^ 

By this time the inflamed multitude were so closely 
pressing round the bar, which separated the Committee 
from the crowd outside, that it was expected every moment 
they would penetrate to the very center of the hall. Pres- 
ently a tumultuous shout was raised by two or three in- 
dividuals who were collected oi)posite to the speaker’s 
chair, and it was evident that the excitement was spread- 
ing among the people with alarming rapidity. 

“Order! order!” shouted the President. “For God’s 
sake, my friends,” he continued, “do not convert this hall 
into a theater of strife and contention !” 

“ Down with the President of the Committee!” cried an 
outsider. “ Huzza for florace Baldwin !” 

“Hopkins! Hopkins!” vociferated two or three voices 
at once from an opposite direction. “ Let us bear some- 
thing more from Darsie Hopkins!” 

The sergeant-at-arms now entered through a private 
door back of the speaker’s chair, and supported by a dozen 
stout and active young men, whom he had pressed into 
his service from the different streets and hotels in the 
neighborhood, he proceeded at once to lay hands on Bald- 
win and Hopkins. The President saw what was likely 
to follow. 

“ Hold ! hold !” he exlaimed, in a loud and confused 
voice. “Not yet! not yet! I did not mean that. We 
will not yet place them under arrest. File off, and saffer 
the gentlemen to go at large. They are under our protec- 
tion, and will not attempt to escape.” 

But it was’now too late. The fury of the awakened multi- 
29 


338 


HEXRY COURTLAND ; 


tude without could be restrained no longer. The moment 
an attempt was made to arrest the bodies of Baldwin and 
Plopkins a rush was made into the very center of the hall 
appropriated to the Committee, every member of which 
rose to his feet, and became fully conscious of the immi- 
nent danger to which his life was exposed. Swords, dirks, 
and pistols gleamed ominously in different parts of the 
house, and the report of fire-arms immediately afterward 
rendered the confusion ten times more alarming. 

It was at this terrifying crisis that a female was seen 
hurrying from her seat in the gallery, and forcing her way 
through the dense crowd until she arrived in front of the 
speaker’s chair. That female was Agnes Russell. Her 
dress seemed to be suited to the occasion that called forth 
the energies of her remarkable mind. The color of it was 
dark-green, and it consisted of a short spencer or jacket, 
which fitted close to her body, the skirt below being com- 
posed of the same materials. She wore round her neck a 
coral necklace, which held in its center the likeness of her 
father, incased in a miniature covering of gold of superior 
workmanship, and resting gracefully on her bosom. Be- 
sides this there was no other ornament about her person, 
not even a ring on any of her fingers. Her head was un- 
covered, having committed the care of her bonnet to her 
faithful companion, Maggy, but her face was closely veiled, 
and a profusion of dark-brown hair flowed in glossy 
ringlets over her shoulders. She held in her right hand 
a scroll of paper, which seemed to impart a designation to 
her person, as if she had been emplo3^ed on some mission 
of love or negotiation to her fellow-mortals. 

The appearance of a female, standing as it were in the 
very center of a scene which threatened so much disorder 
and violence, was of itself calculated to produce an effect 
of no little moment to the peace and security of the per- 
sons by whom she was surrounded. In the space of a 
moment a deep and universal silence pervaded the aston- 
ished multitude. All eyes were fixed on the unexpected 
apparition, and all ears were strained to catch the first 
sounds that might proceed from her lips. As soon as she 
reached the position she seemed to be aiming at, she cast 
aside her veil, and looked boldly round on the crowd, 
whose attention by this time she had completely riveted. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO, 


339 


Her face was pale and thoughtful, but there was an ex- 
pression in her countenance so determined and collected, 
that its forceful spirit could hardly have escaped the notice 
of the most careless observer. Advancing a little closer 
to the President’s chair, she exclaimed, — 

“ Sir, forgive the intrusion in this place of a weak young 
woman, whose only excuse for her conduct is the conscious- 
ness that she herself has been, in some measure, the cause 
of these disorders, while at the same time she cherishes 
the hope and belief that she may have it in her power to 
remove them.” 

“ What ?” exclaimed the President, with a manifestation 
of the utmost surprise, as well as fear, depicted in his face. 
“ How am I to understand all this? You the cause of 
these disorders ? You the person who may be able to 
remove them ? I am utterly at a loss to understand you.” 

“ You, sir,” rejoined Agnes, ‘‘ may be at a loss to com- 
prehend my meaning, but there is an individual in this 
assembly who has a perfect knowledge of what I allude 
to.” Then raising the scroll which she held in her hand, 
and pointing with it to the person of Captain Lamberton, 
she continued: “That individual understands me well. 
Tell him that Agnes Russell stands subdued, humbled, and 
submissive at his feet; tell him that he shall spare the 
men whom his insane zeal on my account is seeking to 
involve in ruin and disgrace ; tell him to cease his per- 
secution against my brotlier, against Percy Courtland, 
against Baldwin and Hopkins, and against God knows 
how many others, on whom his frantic schemes of selfish- 
ness are made to bear with intolerable anguish ; oh I tell 
him that I yield all — that I forfeit all — and that he shall 
spare the innocent for my sake.” And now turning to the 
crowd, who by this time had succeeded in pressing more 
closely around her, she exclaimed: 

“ My dear friends — my fellow-pilgrims in a country 
where there is little to enjoy and much to suffer — do not 
render your condition harder by tumult and impatience ; 
do not seek to assert your rights by force and violence. I 
do not ask you to submit to oppression, but I beg that you 
will endeavor to exercise mildness and forbearance — that 
you will reform by gentleness what can only be made worse 
by sedition and disorder.” 


340 


IlENR Y CO UR TLAND ; 


As soon as Agnes had done speaking, a loud shout from 
the multitude announced that she had been heard with fa- 
vor and approbation. But the crowd continued to be un- 
easy and impatient. After what Agnes had said, they did 
not~ openly threaten violence, but they murmured in secret 
against the Committee, and expressed a strong determina- 
tion to stand by Baldwin and Hopkins. 

In the mean time the mind of the President had become 
confused and bewildered, and he was at a loss to know how 
to understand Agnes, or how to discharge the duties prop- 
erly which belonged to him as the head of the Committee. 
At last he called on Lamberton for some explanation that 
might relieve him from his embarrassments. But that in- 
dividual seemed to be as much bewildered and confused as 
himself. He, of course, understood perfectly well all that 
Agnes had said ; but he was astonished at her boldness 
and resolution, and still more at the concessions the lan- 
guage she made use of seemed to imply. Under these cir- 
cumstances, although he was on terms of the most familiar 
intimacy with the President, and had indeed made a 
partial disclosure to him of his views and feelings in rela- 
tion to Agnes Bussell, he could only answer him in lan- 
guage which, if not entirely unintelligible to that gentle- 
man, was, at least, incoherent and unsatisfactory to the 
other members of the Committee, as well as to the great 
multitude of persons present who did not belong to that 
body. 

“ The young lady,” said he, “ has referred to transactions 
which I think it would have been quite as well she should 
have kept concealed within her own bosom. 1 do not pre- 
tend, Mr. President, to understand all she has said or al- 
luded to on the present occasion. She has in so many 
words accused me of being a tyrant and persecutor. 1 
deny the charge, and if the author were not a lady, I 
would pronounce her to be a base calumniator and liar.” 

To say there is something in the human breast, even 
in the breasts of those who are vulgar and ignorant, which 
always takes the part of female innocence and helpless- 
ness, would only be making a remark that is as trite as it 
remains true and uncontradicted. The moment that Lam- 
berton threw out what was deemed an aspersion against 
the character of Agnes Bussell, the minds of the surround- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


341 


ing multitude were excited to the highest pitch of resent- 
ment. A hundred voices were raised against the unfortu- 
nate man who was supposed to be so devoid of feeling 
and gallantly. Perhaps he was not understood — perhaps 
his meaning was purposely misapprehended — but from 
whatever cause it might spring, the crowd now became 
more restless and ungovernable than ever. They groaned 
— they hissed — they hooted — the}^ demanded that some 
reparation should be made to the feelings of the insulted 
female — they threatened to lay violent hands on Lamber- 
ton. In the midst of this increasing disorder, the Presi- 
dent had presence of mind enough to see that there was 
but one way left to put a stop to it. He adjourned the 
meeting of the Committee until the following morning. 

The moment the adjournment was announced, the mem- 
bers made it a point to escape from the house with all the 
dispatch in their power. Captain Lamberton was the first 
to seek flight by means of the door behind the speaker’s 
chair, and a majority of the rest of the members disappeared 
through various avenues with equal precipitation. The 
consequence was that in a short time afterward the tumult 
had completely subsided. 


CHAPTER LI. 

Nothing was now talked of in every part of Sacramento 
City except the remarkable occurrences which had taken 
place on that memorable morning before the Committee. 
The public mind was dizzy with a thousand conflicting re- 
ports in regard to the exact nature of the transactions 
which had just expired. The members were far from being 
able to explain all they had heard and seen, and the 
verv actors themselves, who had taken a part in that 
morning’s proceedings, or rather in the tumult which grew 
out of them, had but an indistinct notion of the important 
consequences which were to result from their several^ per- 
formances. One fact, however, was certain to the friends 
of Percy Courtland. They had by the confusion which 


342 


HENRY GOURTLAND ; 


caused the adjournment gained another day, which, al- 
though it was not much expected unless by one or two of 
them, might lead to consequences of the greatest impor- 
tance to that individual. 

Poor Lamberton experienced all the pain and embar- 
rassment which such a state of things was calculated to occa- 
sion to his own bosom. He felt, although he could scarcely 
tell why, that he was growing unpopular. He regretted 
his own harsh proceedings against Baldwin and Hopkins, 
and dreaded the tumultuous spirit that had been mani- 
fested by the crowd in their favor. But above all he had 
reason to fear, what he never before could have anticipated, 
that the personal interference of Agnes Russell before the 
Committee, if it should be persisted in, would ultimately 
lead to a development of facts and circumstances that might 
prove disastrous to all his projects. 

Laboring under these apprehensions, one of his first ob- 
jects was to seek a private interview with the President of 
the Committee. To that gentleman he now freely un- 
bosomed himself, and labored hard to bring him over to a 
still more thorough and complete acquiescence in the 
schemes he entertained toward Agnes Russell. He was 
persuaded to accompany Lamberton in person to the 
apartment of that young lady, who willingly granted them 
an interview when she was made acquainted with their 
wishes on the subject. 

The purpose of these gentlemen was, to obtain from 
Agnes a more definite statement of the terms on which she 
would be willing to yield her person and fortune in mar- 
riage to Captain Lamberton, agreeably to her own propo- 
sition as hinted in her address to the President of the 
Committee that morning. They informed her that they 
still had it in their power to save Percy Courtland, to stay 
all further proceedings against her brother, and to abstain 
entirely from any additional punishment or censure so far 
as regarded the persons of Baldwin and Hopkins. Agnes 
was in a great degree unacquainted with the measures 
that had been concerted by her friend Braxton to save her 
from the plot laid for her by Lamberton. That individual 
had, indeed, led her to entertain some hopes that she might 
look for deliverance in the course of time by means that 
were only known to himself, but he never gave her any 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


343 


certain assurance of ultimate success, and even, as we have 
seen, talked seriously to her on the subject of the great 
danger to which her friends might be exposed, unless she, 
in the event of certain contingencies, should be willing to 
offer herself up as a sacrifice for their safety. As to her 
brother, she had heard nothing from him since her short 
residence in iSan Francisco, and was unable to form the 
least conjecture about his place of residence or condition in 
life, except from the dark hints that had been occasionally 
thrown out to her by her friends. It is not to be wondered 
at therefore that she should have been willing to lend a 
friendly, perhaps almost an eager ear, to the suggestions 
made to her by Lamberton and the President. Had Brax- 
ton himself been consulted, he could hardly have advised 
her to act differently from what she did. Althougli it was 
now the third day of the session, neither Percy Courtland 
nor Governor Cartwright had 3^et arrived, and the great 
danger was that if they came at all it would not be until 
the end of the week, the time originally fixed on by the 
governor, and then it might be too late to save either Percy 
or his friend Alfred Russell. 

But Agnes would consent to listen to the inducements 
held out to her by her anxious visitors but on one con- 
dition. “ If,” said she, “ I am compelled to yield a reluc- 
tant acquiescence to the reasons so strongly urged for my 
submission, let it be done in public, in the presence of a 
crowd of wdt-nesses, and before that tribunal which pro- 
fesses to have at its disposal the destinies of those who 
are dear to me, and whom I am anxious to save from re- 
proach and punishment. Let a record be made of the 
compact, which shall be witnessed b}" the free hearts and 
hands of those who will revenge the injury, if ever an 
attempt should afterward be made to violate its awful 
solemnity.” 

These were terms which her persecutors were unwilling 
to grant. But she insisted on the justness of her demands, 
and only became the more firm as they sought the more to 
divert her from her purpose. At last it was agreed that 
she should appear the next day in court, and that without 
publishing to the world the stipulations entered into by 
either party, a formal act of oblivion, so far as regarded 
her friends, should be passed by the Committee, which it 


344 


IIENR Y CO URTLAND ; 


was believed the influence of Lamberton and the Presi- 
dent would be sufficient to bring about, after which Agnes 
was to sign a paper modi lied from the one she had carried 
in her hand the day before, and which it had been her in- 
tention to subscribe, if no other alternative existed by 
which her friends could be effectually screened from their 
enemies. 

On the following day a more efficient police had been 
organized by the officer appointed to preserve the public 
peace, and the crowd of spectators, which was greater now 
than it had been at any time before, seemed to have been 
awed into quietness and order. But the threatening events 
of the day before were still fresh in the minds of the Com- 
mittee; and although an attempt had been made by Lam- 
berton and his friend, the President, to sway them to their 
own purposes, it was found that this was a matter far more 
difficult to manage than had been at first conjectured. The 
truth is, the Committee began to feel ashamed of their own 
servile and obsequious conduct. Their e\’es seemed to be 
opened at once to a sense of their disreputable weakness in 
submitting so implicitly to the dictation of one or two in- 
dividuals, who thus far had exercised an unlimited influ- 
ence over their deliberations. They felt as if they had 
done a very serious injustice to Percy Courtland, but they 
saw at the same time how disgraceful it would be for them 
to nullify their own proceedings, at the suggestion of those 
very men who had been the principal instigators in the 
perpetration of so much folly and wickedness. They 
knew that the conduct of Captain Lamberton had become 
such as to give offense to all, or nearly all, of his warmest 
friends, and that his character was rapidly sinking in the 
estimation of individuals of every class and grade of 
society. They became suddenly anxious to serve Percy 
Courtland, and were conscious they had it in their power 
to do so at once, but the}^ were resolved to accomplish this 
desirable purpose in their own way, and not in accordance 
with the promptings of the President, which they justly 
regarded as the still more dishonorable promptings of 
Captain Lamberton himself. Their minds indeed, since 
yesterday, were not a little influenced by a dread of popu- 
lar indignation, but they were persuaded that that indig- 
nation was now more particularly directed toward the 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


345 


President and Captain Lamberton, and that the conduct 
of these distinguished persons, even where it appeared 
fair and honest, was viewed by the great mass of the 
people with doubt and suspicion. Laboring under impres- 
sions like these, it was not at all surprising, when the 
question was put as to wholly absolving Percy Courtland 
from the charges that had been lodged against him, that 
a very large majority of the Committee voted in the 
negative. 

There were two persons who were especially affected by 
this decision, which, if not unexpected, was exceedingly 
unwelcome. One of these persons was William Braxton. 
That individual had all along regarded the transactions of 
the Committee with intense interest. He had watched, 
with nervous restlessness, the entrance of every new- 
comer into the apartment they occupied. He had scrupu- 
lously weighed all their suggestions, and carefully con- 
sidered all their measures. But he began more and more 
to feel that there was little room for hope or encourage- 
ment. At one time, indeed, he thought it possible when 
the crowd, the day before, had frowned on the President, 
and applauded the speech of Agnes, that the rash and will- 
ful decisions of the Committee would have been effectually 
rebuked and overruled ; but when he now beheld the same 
crowd passive, obedient, and subdued, he was made sen- 
sible of the little that could be expected to result from 
popular excitement and disgust. His only hope at last 
was in that terrible sacrifice on the part of Agnes, which 
he thought would be the certain means of evading the 
doom iliat awaited her brother and Percy Courtland. But 
he now' saw that even that means was 1 kely to prove in- 
effectual. Captain Lamberton was losing his influence 
over the Committee, and the Committee were resolved in 
future to be guided by their own counsels, and, as we have 
seen, confirm their own previous decisions. How truly 
sad and discouraging appeared the prospect of things 
around him ! How anxiously he watched and prayed for 
the coming of Governor Cartwright, but with how little 
assurance and consolation ! 

The other person who deeply felt the influence of the 
Committee’s decision was Agnes Russell. What was she 
to do now ? The members of the Committee W'ere against 


346 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


her. The pledge that had been so solemnly and so confi- 
dently given her by Lamberton and the President of the 
Committee had failed. The public sympathy that had 
been raised for awhile in her favor was hushed. The 
liarsh sentence was about to be pronounced consigning her 
lover to an ignominious punishment. The mockery of an- 
other trial was, perhaps, about to be instituted against her 
brother. She concluded that all influence had departed 
from Lamberton and the few members that might still ad- 
here to him in the Committee — that the affairs of her own 
friends were now ten times more desperate than they had 
been while he himself controlled them — and that nothing 
now awaited those whom she wished to save but certain 
and irremediable despair and ruin. 

While these melancholy thoughts were passing through 
her mind, a sudden movement was heard throughout the 
hall of the Committee. In a moment after a band of ruf- 
fians entered at a door opposite to the President’s chair, 
and posted themselves in different places round the bar 
which separated the seats of the members from the listen- 
ing multitude outside. It was now the President’s turn to 
become arrogant. Every one knew that these men were 
bankrupt in principle and character, and had long been sub- 
servient to the purposes of Captain Lamberton. They had 
not yet been made acquainted with that man’s growing 
unpopularity, and had been procured by him from the 
neighboring mines, during the recess of the Committee, 
with the view of destroying the energy and independence 
of that body should they manifest an intention of becoming 
refractory. 

All this would have operated but slightly on the circum- 
stances connected with the case of Agnes Russell, had not 
the two individuals who invited her, for the purposes we 
have narrated, the night before, become strongly impressed 
with the idea that she had in some way or other confed- 
erated with a majority of the Committee, in their schemes 
which they had concocted for the acquittal and discharge 
of Percy Courtland, and those who were implicated in the 
difficulties connected with his offense and trial. They felt 
certain that it was the design of the Committee eventually 
to free that young gentleman from all the evil consequences 
that might result from his conviction, and they supposed 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


347 


that Miss Russell must have been made acquainted with a 
fact of S^o much importance. Indeed, they confidently sus- 
pected that it was tlu’oug'h her persuasion that the Com- 
mittee had so suddenly swerved from their fealty to the 
presiding officer, and had paid so little attention to the 
wishes of Captain Lamberton. 

As soon, therefore, as the band of ruffians appeared, 
who were posted in different parts of the house for the pur- 
pose of aiding the President in his attempts to trammel 
the Committee, that officer pursued an entirely different 
course from the one which had been agreed on the night 
before. He called up, in the first place, the cases of Bald- 
win and Hopkins, speaking all the time with great vehe- 
mence, and pronouncing them to have been guilty of a 
gross contempt of the court over which he had the honor 
to preside. At the same time he utterly refused to hear 
them say anything in their own defense, and proceeded at 
once to sentence them for the alleged misdemeanor. Hav- 
ing gone through this ceremony with much pompous 
gravity, and held up the offenders as examples to deter 
others from perpetrating similar enormities, he committed 
them to the custody of the sergeant-at-arms. That officer 
did not immediately remove them ; but merely placed 
them in a situation where he could keep a watchful eye 
over them until the court should adjourn at noon. 

When the President had disposed of these two offend- 
ers, he proceeded to call up the case of Percy Courtland. 
Both Lamberton and himself were obstinate and deter- 
mined in consequence of the triumph they had so com- 
pletely achieved. Tliey resolved from henceforth to have 
their own way, and that their own wishes alone should 
be consulted in regard to the nature of the sentence, and 
the time and manner of pronouncing it on the offender. 
Knowing that Agnes Russell as well as the Committee 
must bow implicitly to whatever course they might see 
proper to pursue, they feared not to show the extent of 
their power by acts that were eminently cruel and selfish. 
It was no longer a matter of compromise and negotiation 
between them and Agnes Russell. What they regarded 
as her cunning and dissimulation they believed had been 
fairly overcome by their own superior art and address, 
and they were determined that she should be brought to 


348 


HEXRY COURTLAND ; 


see this in the light they vie^ved it themselves. It is more 
than likely that their intention was still to relent in the 
end, in order that Lamherton might bring that unhappy 
young lady completely under his own control. But they 
were bent on making her feel their power at present, which 
they regarded as the only certain means of making her re- 
spect it more absolutely in future. 

The President from the commencement put on a stern 
and severe countenance, at the same time intimating that 
it would become his solemn duty to increase the sentence 
to be pronounced on Percy Courtland, in consequence of 
the assault which that individual had made on the life of 
Lamherton. 

Stanley, as one of the members of the Committee, un- 
dertook mildly to remonstrate against a course which he 
considered too arbitrary and unjust. “It is surely im- 
proper,” said he, “that the defendant should suffer for 
that in regard to which not a tittle of evidence was given 
before the Committee.” 

“It is not for you, Mr. Stanley,” rejoined the unjust 
judge, “to form an opinion of testimony which you had 
no opportunity of hearing, and which was communicated 
alone to the ears of the President of this Committee. 
Your interference for the defendant on a former occasion 
was highly injudicious, and you see what has been the 
consequence of such indiscreet friendship.” 

“ Sir,” answered Mr. Stanley, “ such friendship is but 
an ordinary dictate of humanity — is but a feeling which 
every honest individual in the community owes to his fel- 
low-mortal, to his country, and to his conscience — owes to 
the cause of justice, and to this tribunal 1” 

“Hold!” exclahned the President, “your zeal, Mr. 
Stanley, may carry you a little further than it is conven- 
ient or proper for this court to approve. This tribunal is 
able to take care of itself. It does not stand in need of 
your advice or friendship, Mr. Stanley.” 

“ But it may stand in need of my prayers, at least,” 
said Stanley ; “ and I think too, if it were not a little too 
wise in its own conceit, it might ” 

“ It might what?” cried the President, in a tone of ex- 
asperated feeling, which seemed to have borrowed its mor- 
bid character from the frenzy of Lamherton himself. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


349 


“ It might profit by that spirit of resistance to tyranny 
which was so near vindicating its own rights in this house 
yesterday !” 

“ d'reason again !” exclaimed the agitated President. 
“ Officer, take the offender into custody I We sit here to de- 
fend our authority, not to be browbeaten by tlie presump- 
tion of an impudent rebel against the laws, even if that 
rebel should wear the solemn garb of a clergyman.” 

As soon as Letitia Stanley heard these words, so pas- 
sionately uttered by the President against her father, she 
sprang at once from her seat in the gallery to the center of 
the court, followed by Agnes Russell. It was evident that 
JSliss Stanley was seriously alarmed for the safety of her 
parent. She saw that he was not only threatened, but 
that he was about to be deprived of his liberty, and per- 
haps to be consigned, for aught she could tell to the con- 
trary, to the gloomy cells of a prison or a dungeon. At 
least her fears suggested the most terrible consequences to 
her imagination. Turning therefore to the President, she 
implored him to desist from denouncing vengeance against 
her father. “ You dare not, you shall not,” she cried, “ in- 
flict punishment on one, whose greatest fault is that he 
thinks less of his own happiness than he does of the hap- 
piness of other.s.” 

“ J’shaw !” exclaimed the President; “away with this 
foolish, weak girl ! How is it that I am beset by impor- 
tunities that are so extravagant and frivolous ? How is it 
that the moment I am about to pronounce merited condem- 
nation on a convicted criminal, something is always sure 
to interfere to interrupt the course of public justice 't Take 
this troublesome creature hence I say! We have business 
of a graver character to attend to than that which concerns 
the childish whining of a doting girl for an unwise and re- 
bellious parent.” 

There was a tyranny in the manner, in the language, in 
the looks of this judicial despot, that embodied itself like 
a s{)ecter to the visual apprehensions of all who were pres- 
ent. Stanley from the beginning regarded him with a 
feeling of indignation and hatred, which it required all the 
religion and fortitude he was master of to restrain within 
bounds of moderation and good-breeding. But when this 
petty tyrant consigned his person with so little ceremony 

30 


350 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


to the keeping of one of his hired menials, and when a mo- 
ment afterward he proceeded to speak in such contempt- 
uous terms of his only child and daughter, all a father’s feel- 
ings mingled themselves with the angry scorn and detesta- 
tion of a more vulgar excitement. This was a crisis of no 
common alarm and danger to the humble divine as well 
as to the haughty President. What consequences might 
have followed no one can now possibly conjecture. But 
just at that time Molton Fairview rushed from the gallery, 
where he had been seated next to Miss Stanley, and seiz- 
ing her by the hand led her quietly back to the place she 
had occupied a few minutes before. Then returning to a 
position in front of the President’s chair, where Agnes Rus- 
sell still continued to stand, as if charged with a mission she 
Avas at a loss how to execute, he was about to address the 
haughty chief of the feeble and enslaved Committee, when 
that courageous girl waived her hand in token of silence, 
and proceeded herself to address the President in the fol- 
lowing language ; 

“ Sir, you are triumphant — you are victor in this timid 
and irresolute assembly. And now what remains for me 
to do ? I have been the innocent cause of all these diffi- 
culties — I have brought down on the heads of my dearest 
friends that vengeance which nothing but my own submis- 
sion can expiate. Suffer me, then, oh sutler me to make 
the sacrifice! I here bow in deep humility before you — I 
here express my willingness to subscribe to any terms that 
may be exacted by my relentless persecutor. Tell Captain 
Lamberton I yield to all his requests. Only spare my 
brother — spare Percy Courtland — defer that hateful sen- 
tence you have been so long meditating! Spare the execu- 
tion of your anger and revenge on the defenseless victims 
who have this day for my sake offended in your presence. 
Let the vials of your wrath be poured on me. But oh 
spare these willing sufferers, who if guilty at all are only 
guilty on my account!” 

“ This interruption is intolerable !” cried the impatient 
President. “ Take this frantic girl away. I am deter- 
mined to be hindered no longer. Let me proceed to the 
discharge of a duty which, if it had been performed earlier, 
would not only have redeemed the members of this body 
from the reproach of weakness and irresolution, but would 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


351 


have saved ns from a thousand difficulties which have been 
as ridiculous as they have been provoking,’’ 

“ But may I not trust to that honor and justice which 
were pledged for our safety?” exclaimed the sorrowing 
damsel. ‘‘ Or, if we be indeed faulty, may I not at least 
hope in that mercy which is the chief prerogative of jus- 
tice, and which, if not more discreet and politic, is esteemed 
by the world as being more tender and amiable than jus- 
tice itself?” 

“ Young woman, you are impertinent and troublesome,” 
answered the offended President. “I am obliged to say, 
that if you do not retire immediately, I shall feel no hesi- 
tation in committing you at once to the custody of an 
officer.” 

“That I have already done for you,” rejoined Agnes. 
“ I have of my own accord placed myself in yonr custody; 
and may I not hope for that mercy which is twice blessed, 
which blesses him that gives and him that receives.” 

“ There is no time, 1 do assure you,” returned the man of 
authority, “ to listen either to threats or flattery. I am 
not to be bullied by the one or deceived by the other.” 

“ It is utterly impossible,” said Agnes, “ for a being so 
weak and helpless as I am to threaten, and I am certain 
my tongue was never taught to flatter. But oh I have 
learned in the hard school of adversity how to suffer afflic- 
tion, how to humble myself before the powerful, and how to 
petition for mercy ! That mercy is what 1 pray for now. 
It is my only hope under the severe trials which have 
fallen to my unhappy lot.” 

“ Will no one relieve me from the annoyances of this 
ill-advised young woman ?” exclaimed the President. “ For 
the honor of this Committee, let us be rid at once of her 
senseless wailings and clamor.” 

He had hardly uttered these words before the sergeant- 
at-arms approached nearer to the spot where the afflicted 
girl stood, as if with an intention to force her by violence 
from the presence of the enraged head of the Committee. 
But his purpose was anticipated by one who had watched 
this whole proceeding with an agitating and intense inter- 
est. The moment he stepped forward to take hold of her 
arm. Molten Fairview rushed in between the officer and 
his prey, and placing his own person in front of the in- 


352 


HE NR Y CO UR TLA ND ; 


suited female, raised his hand in a manner that showed it 
was ready to he exercised for her defense and protection. 
In another moment a severe struggle took place between 
the jmuth and the officer, who were thus brought to assume 
a belligerent attitude toward each other. A sudden excite- 
ment'was now again visible in every part of the hall. The 
President bellowed in loud and angry vociferations for 
order; the members of the Committee gazed at each 
other with something like stupid astonishment; the multi- 
tude outside showed but too plainly that they were ready, 
on the slightest pretense, in spite of the organized force 
by which they were surrounded, to embark in the first out- 
break of tumult and disorder. In the midst of the confu- 
sion which everywhere prevailed, Molton Fairview, re- 
leasing himself from the grasp of the officer with whom 
he had been struggling, mounted a desk which stood in 
front of the President’s chair, and striving to gain the ears 
of the Committee, he intimated to the members of that 
body that he had some information to give them which 
would completely justify the conduct of the young lady 
who had attempted to interfere with their deliberations, 
while at the same time it would deeply implicate the char- 
acter of one of their own members. 

When he had got thus far in calling the attention of the 
Committee to the charges he was about to prefer against 
the guilty captain, that distinguished individual rushed 
forward from his seat with all the fury of a madman de- 
picted in his countenance, and laying violent hands on 
Molt on Fairview, he called on one or two of the base rab- 
ble whom he had detailed for his evil purposes in the 
manner we have seen, and who, until this time, had been 
trembling with fear and anxiety without having the cour- 
age to repair to his assistance, to aid him in carrying out 
the commands of the President, and in banishing the re- 
fractory young pleader from the hall of the Committee. 

It is impossible to say what terrible consequences might 
have followed if the captain’s requests had been obeyed. 
But at this solemn crisis Agnes Bussell again stepped for- 
ward as a public mediator, and as a victim ready and will- 
ing to be offered up for the deliverance and safety of those 
noble friends who were still anxious to stand by her in her 
distress. Placing herself directly in front of Captain Lam- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


353 


berton, and falling on her knees before him, she exclaimed, 
in mournful and passionate language : Oh, sir, do not 
injure this noble young man; do not attempt to inflict 
punishment on these my friends, whose devotion to the 
interests of an unprotected female like myself, even if it 
is erroneously felt and exercised, merits your pity rather 
than your vengeance. See here — I now place myself 
completely within your power. I divest myself of all my 
pride, of all my scruples, of all my hostility to your supe- 
rior judgment. You know what is best for me, and in 
this the day of my humiliation, as I hope it is likewise 
the day of my deliverance from extreme sorrow and suffer- 
ing, here on my bended knees, I offer to sign this paper 
as a pledge of peace and amity between ourselves, and as 
a propitiation and offering freely vouchsafed for the re- 
demption and happiness of m}^ kind and estimable friends.-’ 
Agnes rose from her kneeling posture, and unfolding the 
scroll which she had carried in her hand during the whole 
morning, as she had done the day before, she walked for- 
ward to the clerk’s table and expressed an eager desire to 
place her signature to the instrument. 

Without understanding the disinterested sacrifice she was 
about to make, all eyes were now immovably fixed on the 
heroic girl. Not a word was uttered, not a whisper was 
heard to disturb the mournful silence which hung over that 
breathless and anxious multitude. Captain Lamberton 
himself was deeply impressed with the solemnity of the oc- 
casion. But he knew how necessary it was that his pru- 
dence should get the better of his feelings. This, he saw, 
was the important crisis in his affairs, which, if properly re- 
garded, would lead on to fortune. Only an hour before he 
had, like the President of the Committee, been determined to 
push matters to their utmost extremity, but now he plainly 
discerned the blindness and foolishness of such conduct. 
The multitude outside appeared to be again coming around 
to a clearer perception of the innocence and suffering of his 
victim, and a more violent suspicion of his own baseness 
and wickedness. The very guard whom he had so recently 
enlisted in his favor, and posted in the house to overawe 
the Committee, seemed to be deserting him. The minds 
of the bewildered crowd around him were returning again 
to their first state of freedom and independence, and there 

30 * 


354 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


was again danger that the Committee itself, as a necessary 
consequence, would turn against him. That, under these 
circumstances, Agnes Russell should be willing to yield 
to his solicitations, and sign the paper that was first 
agreed on between them, he regarded as an occurrence 
that was a thousand times more favorable to his schemes 
and wishes than he had any reason to hope. It would 
have been absolute madness in him not to take advantage 
of a state of things so highly desirable, and so little ex- 
pected. 

The President of the Committee did not at first view 
these circumstances in the same light in which they were 
apprehended by Captain Lamberton. lie was still desir- 
ous if possible to subject the multitude to his own au- 
thority, and to overawe the Committee into a compliance 
with his own measures. It was on this account that he 
perse veringly insisted on reducing Agnes to silence, and 
interfered to prevent her from signing the paper in ques- 
tion at that time. 

“ Oh, sir,” said she, “ permit me to do an act which I feel 
it has become my boiinden duty to do. Do not prevent me 
from relieving the sufferings of my friends. I am prepared 
to endure much in my own person, but do not compel me 
to witness the sorrows of others on my account.” 

Molton Fairview was still more earnest than the Presi- 
dent on a subject of so much importance, but from an entirely 
different motive. He urged Agnes, with all the vehemence 
of his 5 'oung and ardent nature, not to think of putting 
her name to that fatal paper. “ It will utterl}" darken your 
future prospects,” he whispered, “ and disturb your peace 
of mind forever.” 

“ I know it ! 1 know it !” she exclaimed, “ but this world 
to me has no future — this mind to me has no peace but 
what it is able to realize from Heaven.” 

Lamberton exchanged glances with the President, who 
all at once seemed to be made sensible of the course he 
ought to pursue. Leaning over from the elevated seat he 
occupied, he looked down on the flushed face and trem- 
bling form of vVgnes below, and with affected sympathy 
for her sorrows he hypocritically remarked, “ Be it then, 
my child, as you desire. I raise no further opposition to 
your will, and am inclined to believe you are right in sign- 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


355 


ingthat paper, as well in justice to Captain Lamberton, as 
for the sake of those friends who may be benefited by 
the act, although in a manner that I do not pretend to un- 
derstand.” 

“ Thank you ! thank 3"ou kindly !” replied Agnes. “Xow 
you are good, and I shall ever hold in remembrance that 
feeling of mercy — but, no! it is enough!” she repeated in 
a lower tone. “ I must not act the hypocrite on an occa- 
sion so solemn as this. Now give me the paper,” she said 
to Molton in a louder voice. “This instrument of writing, 
I trust, will be the means of freeing us from miseiy, if it 
does not restore us to happiness.” 

iSIolton, who had contrived to get the paper into his own 
hands, manifested a positive reluctance to let it pass again 
into the hands of Agnes. “Oh!” he cried, “do not, 1 be- 
seech you, be so rash as to sign that terrible paper, which 
3"ou yourself have confessed will rob 3^ou of 3^our happiness 
in this world forever. Pause and think — if it were on 13^ for 
a day — if it were only for an hour — something may yet 
be left — something may 3^et be done. Do not give 3^our 
hand to an act that may plunge you into the deepest, 
saddest misery !” 

“ Alas ! 1113^ 3^oung friend,” answered the despairing girl, 
in the same subdued tone that had marked the language of 
Molton, “you do not know Agnes Kussell — my resolu- 
tion is fixed — there is no further time for consideration. 
Give me the paper!” 

Molton at last gave an unwilling assent to her request, 
lie parted with the paper slowly and reluctantly. She 
took the instrument of writing from him, spread it before 
her, and then dipped her pen in the ink. Just as she was 
about to sign her name Molton stood between her and the 
light. She raised her head, and gently requested him to 
stand a little aside. She then leaned forward, and again 
put her hand to the paper. But before she had time to 
write her name a tremendous shout shook the very roof 
of the building. “Cartwright! Cartwright!” was now 
echoed by a hundred voices. “ Russell ! Alfred Russell !” 
was shouted in the same loud strain. The astonished girl 
lifted hei’self up and looked round, and in a moment after- 
ward fell fainting in the arms of her brother. 

The commotion that now pervaded every part of the 


356 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


hall was striking and sublime. All hearts appeared to be 
agitated with surprise and alarm, and yet all eyes beamed 
with joy and gladness. The first shout was not perfectly 
understood, but as soon as the whole truth flashed on 
the minds of the astonished multitude, the noise of their 
joyful and repeated acclamations rose higher and louder. 
The noise continued without intermission, and it was 
some minutes before the hall was again restored to order.. 


CHAPTER LIL 

To describe the feelings that agitated the bosom of Agnes 
Russell on her recovery from the swoon into which she 
had so suddenly fallen — her confusion — her surprise — her 
sense of the imminent danger from which she had just 
made her escape — her almost incredulous conviction that 
she was at the very crisis of her fate so unexpectedly re- 
stored to the arms of her brother — would require a skill 
in depicting the feelings and passions of the human heart, 
which it falls to the lot of very few in this world to exer- 
cise, We will confide the task of conceiving the truth of 
a picture like this to the reader’s imagination, rather than at- 
tempt to portray it by any act of our own. We must remark, 
however, what every one of course will readily surmise for 
himself, that notwithstanding the overwhelming joy she 
felt at her own sudden deliverance, she was still impressed 
with a deep and anxious concern for the lot that awaited 
Percy Courtland. Retiring with her brother to the seat 
she had before occupied in the gallery, she felt unwill- 
ing to leave the house so long as the question in regard to 
the sentence to be passed on that individual was still 
pending before the President of the Committee. 

But her mind, on a subject in which she felt such a deep 
interest, was not -suffered to remain long in suspense. 
Governor Cartwright had politely assisted her brother in 
conducting Agnes to her seat, and as soon as he had ac- 
quitted himself of this task, he returned to the bar of the 
Committee, and took his own place as one of the members 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


35t 


of that body. His presence was cordially welcomed by 
his fellow-members, and, with but three or four excep- 
tions, all seemed to turn to him as a leader, in whose 
intelli^^ence, prudence, and energy, they might thereafter 
confide. 

It is hardly necessary that we should acquaint our read- 
ers, that the person with whom they are now made ac- 
quainted by the name and title of Governor Cartwright, 
is the same gentleman who was introduced to their notice 
on a former occasion, whom they heard conversing with 
Henry Courtland in the room set apart for his little library, 
and wdio was so desirous of acquiring some new informa- 
tion on the subject of agriculture. It was not long subse- 
quent to that interview that a restless spirit of enterprise, 
and a strong propensity to render himself acquainted with 
the w’ealth and resources of foreign countries, induced him 
to make a v^wage to California. As had been the case in 
regard to all his other emigrations to distant lands, he soon 
became a favorite among the people, and acquired an in- 
fluence which few other men could boast of to the same 
extent. He had been a member of the Grand Committee 
ever since his first visit to California, and his inherent dig- 
nit}^ and U])rightness of character, whenever he took a 
part in the deliberations of that strange compound of self- 
acquired legislative and judicial power, justly gave to him 
a control over their proceedings which would have been 
dangerous in the hands of almost any other individual. 
Unfortunately for the country, and for the Committee too. 
Governor Cartwright could not ahvays make it convenient 
to attend the meetings of that body. There were two of 
its members who never felt easy when he did so. It is 
needless to say that these were Captain Lamherton and 
the President of the Committee. 

It was evident that these two individuals were greatly 
disconcerted on the present occasion. Percy Courtland had 
not yet been sentenced. Could Governor Cartwright give 
his passive acquiescence to a measure so decidedly op- 
posed to all wholesome precedent, and so clearly subver- 
sive of every principle of justice ? The measure was yet 
to be tested. 

After order had been restored to the Committee, the 
President proclaimed in a tone of voice that betrayed no 


358 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


little embaiTassineiit, that the task of pronouncing sen- 
tence on Percy Conrtland still remained to be executed. 

Governor Cartwright was on his feet in a moment. He 
made but a single remark, and that was, that he hoped the 
gentleman would be tried before he was sentenced. 

The President observed that he had been tried, and 
found guilty by the Committee. 

The countenance of Governor Cartwright now assumed 
a sternness and severity which borrowed much of its force 
from the dignified manner in which he approached his sub- 
ject. And when he spoke, every succeeding remark became 
more earnest, and every additional sentence seemed to fall 
with tenfold weight on the nerves of Captain Lamberton 
and the President of the Committee. Nor did he refrain 
from remarking on the general weakness and inconsistency 
that had characterized the deliberations of that tribunal. 
But it is unnecessary that we should proceed to give a 
more detailed account of his speech. The object he had 
in view was so completely gained that all present won- 
dered at the blindness and infatuation that had before 
characterized the proceedings of the Committee, and that 
body now, with scarcely a dissenting voice, resolved to 
hear the testimony which the friends of Percy CourLland 
said they were prepared to offer in his defense. 

A backward glance at the events of our narrative will be 
sufficient to inform the reader of the general particulars, 
although not of the main strength of that testimony. 
Braxton gave evidence of the persecution with which 
Lamberton had followed that young man, even before he 
left the City of New York. Molton Fairview deposed to 
the charge which had been assigned him by Lamberton, 
to watch his motions, and to seek for the slightest pretext 
to disgrace and ruin his character. Mr. Stanley gave a 
circumstantial account of the conversation he had over- 
heard between the two ruffians — Blakely and Maxwell — 
at the public house of Saunders, and of the embarrassment 
which the latter appeared to experience when he discovered 
that his connection with those two men had, in all proba- 
bility, been discovered. Agnes and her companion, Maggy, 
rehearsed in the ears of the Committee the language they 
heard made use of by the same individuals at the time they 
attempted to arrest Percy at the old house; and Hopkins 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


359 


(who, of course, with Baldwin, was now at liberty) con- 
firmed the statements made by the other witnesses, by dis- 
closing the true characters of the same desperate scoun- 
drels, who made an open confession to him of being the 
liired ruffians of Captain Lamberton, and of their having 
robbed the Committee’s treasure in the City of San Fran- 
cisco. 

But the principal witnesses were Saunders and Governor 
Cartwright. It will be remembered that Horace Baldwin 
had been commissioned to secure the former individual, 
and to produce his person before the Committee, if possible, 
as a witness. This task he was able to accomplish at con- 
siderably less trouble than was at first supposed, Saunders 
having, either from remorse or fear, made up his mind to 
testify against his confederates, and to explain the manner 
in which the box of gold, committed to the keeping of Percy 
Courtland, had been transferred from his custody, and ex- 
changed for the one which was under the care of the person 
who had encamped that night at the edge of the wood, 
and who, in reality, was, as perhaps some of our readers 
have already conjectured, the long-sought brother of Agnes 
Bussell. He asserted that it was himself who had con- 
trived to substitute one box for the other — that he suc- 
ceeded in accomplishing this purpose by going to the loft 
at midnight, where Percy slept, and removing the box de- 
posited at the head of his bed, which he replaced, at the 
same time, by the one he had previously taken out of the 
custody of Alfred Russell, and which was immediately 
transferred to the vehicle at the wood where that individual 
was sleeping — that neither of the parties were aware, in 
the morning, of the exchange that had been thus effected — 
that Blakely and Maxwell professed to be employed by 
Captain Lamberton — and that that gentleman made the 
witness a present of a handsome gratuity the next time he 
called at his house. The evidence given by this witness 
would have been produced to the Committee, without 
waiting for the arrival of Governor Cartwright, had he him- 
self made his appearance in time ; but the truth is that 
Saunders and Governor Cartwright had traveled part of 
the way together, and they both arrived in Sacramento 
City precisely at the same hour. 

The testimony of this last-named gentleman went to con- 


360 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


firm what Saunders had previously deposed. Indeed, it 
was only because it wjjs feared Saunders would not make 
his appearance at all. tliat Governor Cartwri<»ht’s evidence 
was thought to be of so much importance. He went on to 
state that the witness who had just been examined dis- 
closed to him, soon after it had occurred, the nature of the 
transaction that had taken place at his house, and tlie 
manner in which the exchange of the boxes had been 
effected. Governor Cartwright said that he himself was 
the owner of the box which had been committed to the 
care of Alfred Russell for transportation — that he was 
sure that individual could have had no knowledge of the 
substitution of one box for tlie otlier, as he liad delivered 
to him, on his return, the box belonging to the Committee, 
instead of the one with which he liad been intrusted, and 
which was the least valuable — that on being informed by 
Saunders of the imposition that had been practiced on the 
two young men, he concerted with Darsie Hopkins to draw 
forth the truth from Blakely and Maxwell, if possible, 
which was done to the extent that gentleman had stated — 
that as soon as he was aware of the charges alleged by 
Lamberton against Alfred Russell, he took that young 
gentleman under his own protection, until he should have 
an opportunity of vindicating his concfuct before the Com- 
mittee — and he further intimated as a fact which he 
thought ought to operate with very considerable force in 
favor of the defendant, that that person would hardly have 
been so blind as to deliver the certificate, showing the 
exact amount of gold that he was employed to carry, if he 
had previously abstracted a part of that amount and ap- 
propriated it to his own use. He stated, in conclusion, 
that he would have appeared before the Committee at an 
earlier day, but was not aware, until he was informed of 
that fact by an express messenger, who had only been able 
to reach him the day before, that his immediate presence 
was necessary before that tribunal. 

The result of this testimony, as our readers have already 
anticipated, was the prompt and unhesitating acquittal of 
Percy Courtland. Nor was the innocence of Alfred Rus- 
sell less clear to the minds of all who had attended to the 
investigation of the case that had just been disposed of. 
That individual was acquitted by general acclamation, ex- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


361 


pressed by the Committee, as well as by the crowd in 
every part of the house ; nor did the sapient head of the 
singular body that had assembled in that hall, nor even 
Captain Lamberton himself, dare again to utter the most 
distant hint of any offense with wliich he had been pre- 
viously charged. 

Thus ended the wicked contrivances of a man whose 
selfish passions had so far blinded his judgment, as to 
render him absolutely insane in his endeavors to accom- 
plish the unhallowed purposes he had in view. Discour- 
aged, disappointed, and disgraced, he was compelled to 
endure the most humiliating agony of mind, and to behold 
the defeat of all his plans, at the very moment when he 
most expected to enjoy the fruits of his wickedness. But 
this to him was not the worst consequence of his folly. 
The bitterness of this moral death was not yet past. Not 
only the just retribution of a violated conscience began to 
afflict the unhappy offender, but his outward acts of perse- 
cution were now about to be turned against himself, and 
the evil he designed for others was threatened to be visited 
on his own head. 

As soon as an ordinary degree of quiet was restored to 
the hall in which the Committee were assembled. Governor 
Cartwright again arose in his place, and addressed the 
presiding officer of that body in the following language: 

“ I believe, Mr. President, when I was about to enter 
this room a few hours ago, the floor was occupied by a 
young friend of Agnes Bussell, whose laudable object it 
was to disclose to this Committee a series of facts and cir- 
cumstances, which, if true, would have evinced a most 
shameful degree of malevolence and wrong on the part of 
Captain Lamberton against that young lady. He was not 
allowed by your honor to bring forward his accusations. 
But I trust that events have since transpired before this 
Committee, and in your presence, which are sufficient to 
convince every unprejudiced listener, and even the officer 
presiding over the deliberations of this body, of the justice 
and propriety of the young gentleman’s intentions. As 
he, however, was not permitted to carry his intentions into 
effect, with his approbation I will now undertake to do it 
for him.” 

Molton Fail-view at once nodded a graceful assent to 

0 1 

01 


362 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


this request. “Plear! hear!” was echoed from every part 
of the house. The President looked abashed and uneasy, 
and Captain Lamberton fell back into his chair as if abso- 
lutely overcome and confounded. The speaker then con- 
tinued as follows : 

“In the name of justice and this Committee, whose duty 
it is to punish the guilty and defend the innocent — in the 
name of an honorable faith which has been violated — in 
the name of that gallantry and feeling which every true 
man cherishes for the opposite sex, and which in this in- 
stance has been wholly disregarded — I here charge Captain 
Lamberton with the design to coerce Agnes Russell into a 
marriage union with him against her own consent, and by 
acts of continued persecution that were wanton, wicked, 
and cruel.” 

“Hear! hear !” was again repeated by a hundred voices. 
“ Proceed with the trial ! Let the witnesses be examined !” 
was shouted by several members of the Committee. 

We will not detain the reader by attempting to narrate 
all that took place on this memorable occasion. Not only 
was Governor Cartwright permitted to go into an investi- 
gation of the truth of these accusations, but there was an 
eagerness and enthusiasm manifested all round to hear the 
testimony that compelled him at once to call forward the 
witnesses. 

To attempt to state the particulars of this testimony 
would only be repeating for the most part what our read- 
ers are already acquainted with Braxton now felt at full 
liberty to disclose all that he knew on the subject of the 
baseness and duj)licity, so long and so cruelly exercised by 
Captain Lamberton, toward the object of "his extraordi- 
nary and selfish passion. He went back even so far as to 
the time when that gentleman on her account, and for the 
purpose of freeing himself from everything that seemed 
to interpose between him and the object of his pursuit, 
cunningly contrived to poison the mind of Percy Court- 
land against his parents and his brother, and persuaded 
him without their knowledge to accompany him to the City 
of New York. He recounted the perfidy and baseness 
which he exercised toward Percy when he had got him 
to that city — the measures lie had planned for inveigling 
Agnes into his own custody, and which in all probability 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


363 


would have been successful but for the firmness of Mr. 
Marshfield — the art and deception he had resorted to in 
order to bring her over to his views after they met in Cali- 
fornia — the pretenses he had invented to hold both Percy 
Courtland and herself under duress on his own premises 
— the charges he had so wickedly preferred against that 
young gentleman and her brother, all of which he more 
than intimated to Braxton he was induced to resort to for 
the purpose of bringing her to favor his unhallowed de- 
signs — -and the plan he had laid to entrap her at the mis- 
sion of Dolores. All this and much more was fully 
rehearsed to the Committee by Braxton, whose recital 
was listened to by the whole house with the most pro- 
found and intense interest. 

Braxton’s testimony was so lucid and positive that it 
did not stand in need of confirmation. It was, however, 
sustained by what had just before been proved on the trial 
of Percy Courtland before the Committee. It was further 
supported by Maggy and by Molton Fairview, and received 
additional strength from the statements made by Mr. Stan- 
ley and the old padre of what he had communicated to 
them of his designs previous to their meeting together at 
the mission house, where, as we have seen, it was his 
hope to have the marriage ceremony performed in their 
presence. 

The last effort of a perverted understanding, when strug- 
gling to maintain its purposes and respectability in the 
eyes of the world — at that solemn crisis when its hopes 
are sinking — when its flattering promises are fading — 
when its guilty purposes are being transformed into the 
anguish of doubt and despair — is like the spasmodic breath 
that animates the human body at the hour of death. There 
is a momentary recoil — a bright flash that dazzles for an 
instant — a sudden renovation of strength and feeling— and 
then the mortal agony sinks at once into the silence and 
helplessness of the tomb. Just so it was wdth Captain 
Lamberton. He felt that the mass of testimony that had 
been adduced against him was powerful and overwhelm- 
ing. And yet it was that very extremity of despair that 
animated him to make a last desperate effort to recover 
his ruined hopes. 

“ What, after all,” said he, “ has been the proof brought 


364 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


against me ? I am charged with having endeavored to 
gain the affections of this young lady from a selfish and 
malevolent motive. But not one of the witnesses has 
been able to produce any positive testimony against me 
sufficient to convict me of an offense so base and dishonor- 
able. The only evidence relied on is that which intimately 
blends itself with an inquiry that was got up for alto- 
gether a different purpose, and from w'hich inferences are at- 
tempted to be drawn to my disadvantage. Before I am 
convicted, I demand that the opinion of this Committee be 
made up from something more than mere hasty and un- 
founded surmises.” 

At the conclusion of this extraordinary speech, Agnes 
Bussell was observed to hand a paper to young Fairview, 
who immiediately passed it over to Governor Cartwright. 
This was the letter written by Lamberton to Braxton, 
which it will be remembered Mr. Marshfield confided to 
Agnes a very short period before his death. As soon as 
the purport of it was explained to Governor Cartwright 
he went on to remark, — 

‘‘If any of us could for a moment doubt the sufficiency 
of the testimony, which Captain Lamberton would seem 
to intimate is not strong enough, I believe the document I 
hold in my hands would operate at once to remove such 
doubt. This is a letter written to Mr. Braxton by Captain 
Lamberton, bearing his own signature, which I am sure he 
wdll not dare to dispute. I will proceed to read it.” He 
then read the letter before the Committee as follows: 

“My dear Braxton, — The confidence I repose in your 
fidelity and devotion to my interests encourages me to 
write to you with the utmost freedom. Agnes Russell 
must be gained at all hazards. I think I have effectually 
disposed of Percy Courtland, and, as you know, have 
made an arrangement with Marshfield to induce that young 
lady to visit California. It is of course my intention by 
these means to bring her within my power. When we 
meet together at San Francisco it will be easy for me to 
manage her brother, as 1 have already succeeded in manag- 
ing her lover. But I may require your assistance there, 
as 1 feel I possess your friendship and sympathy here. 

“ Very truly yours, 

“ John Lamberton.” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


365 


As soon as this letter was read, it was followed by a 
universal shout of indi.u-nation from all parts of the hall. 
Lamberton now seemed to be fairly overcome with shame 
and vexation. He remained motionless in his seat, only 
that he glanced at Braxton a scowl of savage fury which 
evidenced the deep seated rancor and corruption of his 
heart. On the other hand, that scowl was returned by 
Braxton with the same peculiar expression of his eye 
which we have noticed on other occasions, and which was 
always sure to be manifested when he thought his feelings 
or his honor were wantonly assailed by others. 

It is needless to say that Lamberton was convicted of 
mean and ungentlemanly conduct toward Agnes Russell, 
which conviction was received by the crowd outside with 
the utmost enthusiasm. A vote of censure was immediately 
passed against him by the Committee, and he was unani- 
inousl}^ expelled from ever afterward holding a seat in that 
body. It was at the same time resolved that Blakely and 
Maxwell, if it should be in the power of the Committee to 
apprehend them, should be punished with the utmost se- 
verity’', as well on account of the part they took in the dis- 
graceful proceedings carried on by Lamberton against 
Percy Courtland and Alfred Russell, as for the act of lar- 
ceny they had committed in purloining the property which 
they had been appointed to guard in San Francisco. 


CHAPTER LIII. 

On the evening of that day which saw the acquittal of 
Percy Courtland, and the utter discomfiture and condem- 
nation of Captain Lamberton, there were a thousand merry 
hearts in Sacramento, all exulting in the joy and satisfac- 
tion which these important even^^dj^ccasioned. The hotels 
were lit up with more than ordi -^.-y splendor, and every 
voice was busy in describing the scenes that had been 
witnessed, and the glorious result that had crowned the 
day’s deliberations. But this feeling especially pervaded 
the bosoms of those who were assembled at the hotel 

31 * 


366 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


where Aprnes Eussell and her friends had taken quarters, 
and which had become the principal resort of the majority 
of those visitors who were most respectable in character 
and appearance. Governor Cartwright himself had taken 
lodgings at this prominent hotel, and it was agreed that 
Agnes and her friends should occupy the chief apartment, 
as the place where they could assemble to Avelcome and 
congratulate each other. 

“And so, my young lady,” said Governor Cartwright 
to Agnes, as soon as they had all assembled, “ the long 
agony is over at last. You have escaped from the toils of 
3"our relentless persecutor, contrary, 1 believe, to j'our own 
hopes and expectations.” 

“Oh, Governor Cartwright,” returned Agnes, “I have 
indeed met with a j oyful, a happy victory ! Nor is this vic- 
tory the less dear to me because, next to that Good Being, 
who is always ready to assist the helpless and innocent, I 
owe its accomplishment to my friends, and especially, sir, 
to you. Oh, suffer me to say how sincere, how profound 
are my thanks !” 

“ You owe little to me,” answered the governor, “com- 
pared with your great and lasting obligations to others. 
There is one man whose goodness you must and will re- 
member as long as you live. That man, I am happy to 
see, is present on this joyful occasion. I allude to Mr. 
Braxton. It was he who contrived and arranged every- 
thing necessary for the justification and deliverance of 
your friends — everything that was wanted to convict 
your merciless and cruel persecutor. I know you have 
thanked him a thousand times already, but should you 
thank him a thousand times more, it would not be too often 
for the many and great benefits he has so nobly and so 
kindly bestowed upon you.” 

“You are right! you are right! my dear sir!” re- 
joined Agnes, “1 cannot be too grateful to this excellent 
person ! Oh, sir,” she continued, addressing herself to 
Braxton, “ permit me tfcus publicly to express my sincere 
acknowledgment of your noble and disinterested conduct. 
And whether your station in life be high or be low, I here 
proffer you my warmest, my sincerest gratitude for ser- 
vices, the memory of which I will carry ^ith me to the 
grave !” 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


36t 


“ Forbear, most worthy young- lady,” returned Braxton, 
“ an expression of feeling which is the less necessary, be- 
cause the person to whom it is addressed has not only an- 
ticipated its kindness, but is prepared to dispense with the 
unmerited honor which it would seem to imply. The op- 
portunities we may meet with in life of discharging high 
and important duties are but the dispensations of a kind 
Providence, calculated to exalt our own virtues, if we have 
any, for which we cannot be too thankful. That the past 
events of my checkered existence have been in some meas- 
ure identified with your own, Miss Russell, I cannot but 
esteem as a most kind favor and blessing. That I have 
been able in some little degree to serve you, I am conscious 
has been a very valuable means of benefiting myself. Let 
that consideration alone constitute my best, my happiest 
reward.” 

“ And yet,” answered Agnes, “ I would not be deprived 
of my own share of the benefit. Remember, Mr. Braxton, 
the exercise of gratitude is itself a blessing wherever it 
exists in the human breast. While I do not seek to de- 
prive you of that noble satisfaction which is always the 
reward of disinterested benevolence, neither will you seek 
to deprive me, as I trust, of that humble satisfaction 
which has its source in a feeling and thankful heart.” 

“ All persons,” said Braxton, “ have a right to enjoy 
that full measure of satisfaction which springs from good 
intentions and upright actions. Only let us take care how 
our own flattery, or the flattery of others, inspires us with 
a spirit of pride and self-conceit.” 

“The caution you suggest,” rejoined Agnes, “is not 
without reason ; and yet, so far as regards yourself, I could 
hardly believe that you possess many of the qualities of 
what the world calls a proud man.” 

“Alas!” cried Braxton, “how little do we under- 
stand each other’s hearts, and how still more imperfectly 
do we understand our own ! Pride ! self-conceit ! they 
have been the besetting sins of my childhood, of my youth, 
and of my manhood. I was never in my earliest years 
balked of some darling gratification, but that I obstinately 
persisted in throwing the whole blame on those who were 
assiduously endeavoring to soothe me by their kindness. 
I was never in my youth corrected for a fault, but I per- 


368 


IIE^R Y CO UR TL A XD ; 


versely maintained that I was better informed than my in- 
structors. And when at last my mind expanded into the 
light of matiirer years, I turned my scornful back on the 
world, and because I thought my talents and attainments 
were not sufficiently flattered and respected, I assumed a 
chiiracter which did not belong to me, and concealed, under 
a ridiculous disguise, the aspirations and longings of my 
real nature. And it was pride again that urged me to rise 
above my assumed character, and enter on the career of a 
new life. I desired to advance myself to a station where 
I might command the respect and applause, and where I 
could win the honors and distinctions, of the world. But 
in my efforts to reach the position my soul coveted, I had 
soon reason to suspect that mere worldly exaltation could 
hardly be purchased, except at the expense of a correspond- 
ing moral depression.” 

“ And so you were humbled in your own eyes,” said 
Agnes, “and consequently became an altered person. 
From the folly of the past 3^11 borrowed wisdom for the 
future. It is said that this kind of experience is not unu- 
sual in the world. And 3mt,” continued Agnes, casting 
her eves around, as if in search of some one whose image 
had just then pictured itself to her mind, “ who does not 
Avish that it was felt oftener? who does not desire to see 
its full blessings poured on the head of the lonely, the for- 
saken, and the wanderer ?” 

“On some near and dear friend, I suppose you mean,” 
observed Governor Cartwright, “some one who has been 
exposed to the bitter blasts of adversity, and in whose 
welfare you feel a deep and abiding interest.” 

Agnes blushed for a moment, and then calmly replied, 
“ We must patiently hope for the best.” 

“ Yes,” said Governor Cartwright, “ and our patient 
Avaiting, if we are but true to ourselves, Avill sooner or 
later be croAvned Avith a happy realization of our desires 
and Avishes. At least so much I trust Avill be vouched by 
the gentleman to Avhom I am noAA^ about to introduce you.” 

On speaking these words he stepped apart to a side door, 
against Avhich he gently knocked, and in a moment after- 
ward Percy Courtland entered, and stood in the presence 
of Agnes Russell. Something must be left to the imagina- 
tion of the reader whenever there is occasion for the exer- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


369 


cise of a passion or feeling which is too deep for the color- 
ing’ of ordinary description. Our feeble powers would 
entirely fail us if we sliould attempt to portray the emo- 
tions which each of these parties must have experienced 
at this sudden and ecstatic meeting. None could possibly 
describe these feelings so well as themselves. 

It is unnecessary that we should remind the reader of 
what he will readily conjecture himself, that Percy Court- 
land had arrived in Sacramento City that morning in com- 
pany with Governor Cartwright and Alfred Russell, and 
that he was present at the hall of the Committee during the 
entire period of that day’s proceedings. But it was pur- 
posely arranged by the friends of both the parties that no 
interview should take place between himself and Agnes 
Russell until the ensuing evening. The result of that in- 
terview we have just narrated in such terms as we found 
to be within our power. 

When the two friends, or the two lovers, if that phrase 
should be considered more appropriate, had become so far 
composed as to mingle freely in the conversation of the 
other parties who had assembled at the hotel. Governor 
Cartwright was induced to make some remarks that were 
listened to with deep interest by all who were present. 
Addressing himself to Percy, he proceeded to say : 

“ I shall never forget the two or three hours 1 had the 
pleasure of spending with your father, at Courtland Hall, 
the last time I was in the State of New York. 1 soon 
found him to be not only a man of my own tastes in the 
management and choice of his agricultural pursuits, but a 
person of a highly liberal and cultivated mind, and a warm 
enthusiast in extolling the advantages and peculiarities of 
his calling. I admired him as a veteran pioneer in the 
great cause of human progress and improvement. When 
Mr. Braxton told me your own story, in connection with 
that of Miss Russell, and informed me that you were a 
son of that same Henry Courtland whose originality of 
thought and genius 1 once had occasion so much to admire, 
and from whose enlightened knowledge I derived so much 
real benefit, I could not doubt for a moment the truth of 
his statement, and my whole heart felt the full force of the 
appeal he had framed in your behalf.” 

The friends and admirers of Agnes Russell who were 


370 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


at that time in California, perhaps never spent a happier 
evening’ tlian that which they enjoyed on this memorable 
occasion. Hopkins and ]3aldwin were intoxicated with 
joy at the idea of such a signal triumph to their dearest 
hopes and wishes ; for so ardently had they espoused the 
cause of Agnes Russell, and those connected with her, 
that they could not do otherwise than regard that cause 
as personally and emphatically their own. 

“ We do well to rejoice, my dear Hopkins,” said Bald- 
win, “for I really feel quite as much relieved at the events 
of this day, as I did on that solemn occasion when Molton 
Fairview so nobly interfered to effect my personal deliver- 
ance from the felon’s doom that had been pronounced on 
me by the infuriated mob.” 

“ Yes,” answered Hopkins, “ when they were going to 
hang you upon a gibbet without the intervention of judge 
or jury, according to the rudimental principles of Lynch- 
law, a code as arbitrary and cruel almost as the heart of 
the merciless tyrant who presides over the deliberations of 
the Great Committee. But 1 was never informed precisely 
of the manner in which you made your escape.” 

“I have already told you,” rejoined Baldwin, “ that it 
was effected through the agency of Molton Fairview. 
There he stands. He can best explain his own move- 
ments.” 

“Just so,” remarked Hopkins; “but there is no occasion 
to trouble Molton on the subject. I believe in my heart 
that the true element of bravery was at the bottom of it 
all, and that his mother’s image was the goddess of war 
urging him to the combat. 1 suppose it was the same 
spirit that animated his bosom against Blakely and Max- 
well, when he became the champion of Agnes Russell in 
opposing those two ruffians at the hotel in San Francisco.” 

“Rather say it was our friend Braxton who inspired me 
with daring at that time,” observed Molton ; “ he had just 
explained to me the villainy of Lainberton, and told me 
how easy it would be, before leaving the city, to awe his 
blackguards into fear and submission. 1 was induced to 
undertake the task accordingly.” 

“ All right, my boy !” exclaimed Hopkins, “ I think your 
intentions are most capital, although not always success- 
ful. For instance, to-day you found it an up-hill business 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


371 


in contendino: a.ffainst that old brute of a President, and I 
guess you would have entirely failed, had not the good 
governor stepped in so opportunely to your assistance.” 

'‘I must confess,” replied Molton, “ that I found it rather 
a hard task to deal with the obstinacy and wickedness 
of the old gentleman on the bench. But my hope was to 
reach him through the crowd below. I think that was 
not a vain or an ignorant hope. It would indeed have re- 
quired a little time to put the materials in order, but once 
arranged they would have been easily kindled, and the 
flame might have burned much higher tlian the President’s 
chair. But come, these are matters that require no fur- 
ther discussion at present. The victory has been gained, 
and it matters but little what hand struck the successful 
blow.” 

Here the conference between the parties ended, and the 
young men entered into the amusements and conversation 
of the evening, according as they were severally led by 
their different tastes, dispositions, and feelings. But there 
was one person present who had listened to the language 
that had passed between the two speakers with the most 
profound interest. Governor Cartwright eagerly caught 
up all that was said on the occasion, and he was especially 
struck with the two or three last remarks that fell from 
the lips of Molton Fair view. 

Before the company dispersed it was discovered that a 
remarkable unanimity prevailed among them on the sub- 
ject of returning to their native land. Alfred Bussell had 
so far arranged his business as to remove every obstacle to 
his getting off in a reasonable time, Avhich object he was 
now the more anxious to accomplish for the purpose of 
going home in company with his sister. Percy had seen 
enough of California to wish to follow their example. 
Braxton had realized a fortune, and his only concern was 
how to dispose of it properly. Molton Fairview had been 
successful in collecting much of the precious metal, which 
he was now only desirous of converting into money, and 
pouring into the lap of his kind-hearted and affectionate 
parent. Hopkins had spent his treasure as fast as he dug 
it out of the earth, but he was sufficiently prudent to re- 
tain enough to carry him home, which he was the more 
anxious to reach since he had made the discovery of the 


372 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


death of Mr. Marshfield, whose mild and paternal counsel 
he expressed a strong resolution to follow in future. Mr. 
Stanley and his daughter considered that their mission 
would end as soon as an adjournment should take place of 
the Grand Committee ; and Baldwin seemed to be the only 
person among them all who expressed a wish to prolong 
his stay in the land of gold, with the fond hope of still 
being able to make some provision for his poor wife and 
children. The great question now agitated among them 
was, whether they might not all sail home in the same ves- 
sel. But the company broke up before coming to any reso- 
lution on the subject. 


CHAPTER LIY. 

The next morning Percy Courtland paid an early visit 
to his friend Agnes, whom he found sitting alone in her 
own apartment. This meeting had the effect of bringing 
back past days, and reviving former recollections. 

“ Who would have thought two years ago,” said Percy, 
“that you and J, at the present time, would be sitting to- 
gether under circumstances not a little astonishing, in an 
apartment of a public hotel in California ? How remark- 
able have been the events that led to this unexpected 
meeting !” 

“The love and wisdom that are so* wonderfully exer- 
cised by that Providence which suffers not a sparrow to 
fall uncared for on the ground, may not always be under- 
stood, but we may feel abundantly assured that every 
event which happens to us in this life must have for its ob- 
ject an end that will fully justify the means employed to 
bring it about. This is a world of effects rather than of 
causes, which are so remotely traced that it is not at all 
surprising they should be as imperfectly comprehended. 
It has been wisely said, that where we can’t unriddle we 
should learn to trust.” 

“ But you will admit,” said Percy, “ that it is exceedingly 
hard to become reconciled to occurrences which in their 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


373 


results would seem to be attended with nothing but cruelty 
and suffering, without any alleviating circumstances to 
atone for the misery which is so painfully experienced by 
the sufferer. For instance, had your own heroic intention 
to save your friends from the malice of Captain Lamberton 
been carried into effect, who could have pretended to ac- 
count for the wisdom and necessity of a sacrifice which 
would have been attended with nothing but evil to the 
person who had so generously prepared the offering 

“ It is not reasonable,” answered Agnes, “that we should 
imagine an occurrence which in reality has had no exist- 
ence, But the very case you mention is a striking in- 
stance of the particular interference of a divine Providence. 
The moment the catastrophe was about to happen — at the 
very instant the darkness became greatest — a sudden illu- 
mination spread like a flash of lightning to hasten a result 
very different from that which had been expected. But 
supposing it had come to the worst, and I had been obliged 
to sign that obnoxious paper, I was well aware that even 
then 1 should not be deprived of every chance of escape. 
I was not suffered to forget, at that terrible crisis, that I 
carried in my pocket the letter written by Lamberton to 
Braxton, which in itself constituted very strong evidence 
of the fraud attempted to be perpetrated against me. That 
might have saved me at last, or, if it had not, — if the con- 
tract could have been regarded as valid, — 1 should at most 
have considered the required sacrifice as a necessary means 
to purify my own heart, and at the same time perhaps to 
purify the hearts of those whose lasting welfare I felt sin- 
cerely desirous to promote.” 

“ And yet,” rejoined Percy, “the remarkable events that 
distinguished both of our lives during a given period have 
sometimes appeared so dark and mysterious, and even now 
cause my mind to be infested by so many doubts, that I 
feel how impossible it is for me to see this subject in that 
clear light which seems to give so much satisfaction to 
your own understanding.” 

“ Percy Courtland !” exclaimed Agnes, rising from her 
own chair, and approaching closer to the spot where her 
lover was seated, “I am but a feeble girl, and would not 
willingly indulge in disquisitions that are unsuitable to my 
sex, or to mv circumstances in life. You are possessed of 

32 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


3t4 

reason and I of feeling, and each of us, in our own way, 
may arrive at trutli if we are but willing to seek for it in 
simplicity and honesty of purpose. It would be presump- 
tion in me to affect to become your instructor, and I have 
scarcely more than a single remark to make. But think 
for a moment. Ought not our past experience to teach us 
a lesson of immense value to our future happiness ? Have 
not I been taught in the hard school of adversity how to 
hope, how to trust, how to become resigned and contented, 
in the darkest night of sorrow and affl'ction ? Have I not 
been taught to confide with child-like simplicity in that 
unseen arm, which leads us and guides us without doing 
violence to our own freedom of choice? Have I not been 
made sensible that God’s benevolent designs are most 
clearly manifested in seasons of the greatest extremity ? 
And how is it as regards yourself? Have you less reason 
to rejoice in the lessons that have been taught you from 
above, in the knowledge that has been so wondeifully eli- 
cited from your recent experience? Is not your heart less 
proud and lofty than it was before you met with sorrow 
and disappointment, and do you not begin to distrust your 
own wisdom and discernment? Ho you not begin to see 
how vain it is for you to eat the bread of carefulness — to 
sit up late and to rise up early — unless the blessing of 
Heaven is made to rest on your own humble exertions? 
Ho you not feel perhaps that you committed a gfeat error 
— that you manifested a great weakeess — when you so 
suddenly and sullenly forsook the kind assiduities of your 
parents and friends, to become a wanderer over the face of 
the earth? And was not this knowledge worth learning 
and worth suffering for ? Was it not worthy the teachings 
of the divine Providence? Say not, then, that you cannot 
see the love and wisdom that have accompanied you in all 
3mur wanderings ? They are indelibly stamped on every 
event of your life. They are intimately interwoven with 
all your pursuits and adventures, and with all your pur- 
poses. They as certainly accompany juju through good and 
through evil, as light and darkness accompany the earth 
in its revolutions round the sun.” 

Perc\^ was not permitted to frame a rejoinder to the re- 
marks made by Agnes, for just as she was about con- 
cluding the grave homily which, against her own taste 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


315 


and opinion, she had been induced to labor with more than 
her usual carefulness, her brother entered the apartment. 

“Here is Alfred!” she exclaimed. “He looks like the 
smith in Shakspeare, who sutfered his anvil to grow cold 
while devouring the news which was so lavishly reported 
by his neighbors. Now, do tell me, Alfred,” she con- 
tinued, “ how the public pulse seems to beat this morning.” 

“It is certainly a little disordered,” observed Alfred, 
“and perhaps not the less so on our account. We have 
become the great lions, or at least the great center of at- 
traction, to the busy multitude, and if not gazed at, we are 
certainly a good deal talked about. Governor Cartwright 
is pronounced to be the greatest man in all California, and 
you the greatest woman in all America. Thus you see 
what a sudden rise our fortunes take whenever we succeed 
in enlisting the dear people on our side.” 

“Oh, ay!” exclaimed Agnes, “I understand you. We 
become great by acclamation. I have just been trying to 
comfort Percy under his troubles with the assurance of_a 
different kind of greatness. But I am not unwilling that 
he may enjoy both, provided only that he learns how to do 
it in moderation.” 

“ Why,” returned Alfred, “I thought that Percy’s disap- 
pointments had been turned into successes, and that the 
murmuring of his discontent had been exchanged for the 
exultation of triumph. Indeed, Percy,” he continued, ad- 
dressing himself to his friend, “you have only not been 
the chief conqueror because you have not been the chief 
mourner, and hence it is that you ought to be fully satisfied 
with your share of the victory.” 

“ On an occasion like this,” answered Percy, “I feel that 
I ought not to be sorrowful, and that I ought not to com- 
plain. And yet there are sometimes causes of discourage- 
ment to the human heart which it requires more than one 
triumph to remedy and remove. In the midst of all the 
joy which gladdens the minds of others, what real cause 
have I for triumph or exultation ? Where are the victories 
I have gained — where are the honors I have won ? I was 
basely reproached with a disgraceful offense, from the 
charg-e of which, it is true, I have been honorably ac- 
quitted. An attempt was made to destro3Mny good name 
in the estimation of my fellow-men, from the effects of 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


s'le 

which I trust 1 have wholly recovered. I have been sub- 
jected in a foreign country, and among strangers, to a tem- 
porary deprivation of my liberty, to labor not suited to my 
habits and constitution, to hardship and want, to which 
1 had never before been accustomed and have borne it all 
without sinking into absolute despair. But what has been 
the reward of my sufferings? I feel as if all this labor 
and sorrow had been spent in vain. I have been wholly 
disappointed in my hopes and expectations. I am still 
helpless and impoverished — timid and irresolute — a fugitive 
and a vagabond on the face of the earth. I cannot remain 
here — I am too proud to return home. I have certainly 
committed a most capital blunder, which I find it utterly 
out of my power to correct, and the evil of which I only 
feel the more keenly as 1 gain a clearer insight into my 
own weakness and folly.’’ 

These words were uttered by Percy with a passion and 
earnestness which occasioned in the mind of Alfred, and 
especially in that of his sister, a deep feeling of uneasiness 
and concern. They saw at once that they had not pre- 
viously comprehended the extent of that hidden sorrow 
which had been preying on his heart. Percy was mild, 
was gentle, was moderate in his desires and wishes, but at 
the same time he was proud and sensitive in the extreme 
in regard to what he supposed his friends expected him to 
achieve in the world. He felt as if he had disappointed 
them, and had not done justice to his own idea of the 
place he ought to fill in society. He labored unques- 
tionably under a morbid delusion, and all his thoughts on 
this subject were but the false suggestions of his own imagi- 
nation, but this did not render them any the less painful on 
that account. Agnes was the first to perceive the true 
state of his feelings, and to devise some further arguments, 
which she thought might possibly administer to his relief 
and comfort. 

“I am astonished,” she remarked, “at the low estimate 
you place on the benefits to be derived from your own ex- 
perience, and of the erroneous ideas you cherish respecting 
3^our own peculiar destiny. How have you been more un- 
fortunate than all other men? Has it been because you 
have been exposed to hardships and dangers at the outset 
of life, and have not realized those anticipated honors 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


377 


and successes which thousands of youn,*? men dream of 
like yourself, but never fully enjoy accordin^^ to their pre- 
vious ideas of what awaits them in future? Why, this 
kind of disappointment should be one of your chief causes 
for humility and thankfulness. It is but another instance 
of that kind providential interference of which we were 
speaking awhile ago. It is intended to moderate your 
ardor — to check the exuberance of your imagination — to 
sober and enlighten your judgment — and to fit you for a 
less brilliant, but a more useful' station in society, perhaps, 
than would have been the object of your own choice!” 

Percy cast his eyes on the floor of the apartment, and 
for a moment remained silent and embarrassed. Then 
looking up more cheerfully, he remarked, — 

“There is undoubtedly some truth in what you say — 
nay, I cannot but think that your observations are fraught 
with nothing but the truth. And yet it is exceedingly 
hard to be compelled to return home not only without 
having met with a moderate share of success, but without 
having realized anything but absolute sorrow and disap- 
pointment.” 

“Tut! tut! Percy,” exclaimed Alfred, “this is certainly 
looking at the dark side of things. The very disappoint- 
ment of which you complain will make you a wiser and 
better man hereafter.” 

“ Ay, and a happier one too !” replied Agnes. 

“ And yet I must return home like a madcap and a 
beggar — with folly attending me on one side and destitu- 
tion on the other.” 

“And with a thousand kind-hearted and loving friends 
to laugh good-naturedly at your folly, and to relieve you 
of your destitution,” said Agnes. 

These last words were uttered by that young lady with 
an expressioiPof countenance so benignant and gentle, and 
with a tone of voice so earnest and affectionate, that Percy 
gazed on her with a feeling that was equally warm and 
tender, and that enabled him at once to penetrate the very 
depth of ‘her heart. Laboring under an emotion so grate- 
ful and consoling, he could not help exclaiming, — 

“Oh, Agnes! then I am not despised by you — you at 
least will not forsake me !” 

“ Proud, mistaken, self-tormentor !” she rejoined, — “ what 

32 * 


3Y8 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


could ever have induced you to indulge in such unaccount- 
able nonsense ? Go talk to Alfred. He will tell )^ou that 
if you could but regard yourself with only half the esteem 
you are regarded by your friends, there would be nothing 
to prevent you from becoming a cheerful and happy man.” 

Percy turned from Agnes without uttering another word. 
He now seemed to realize some consciousness of his own 
unreasonable suspicions — some conviction of his own mor- 
bid sensibility of feeling. He could not help regarding 
her exclamation as a rebuke that was keenly administered, 
but that was kindly meant, and which was intended to 
bring him again to his sober senses. He walked across 
the room, and entered into a protracted conversation with 
her brother. 

It was not long before Alfred succeeded in wholly dis- 
persing the gloom that had so unhappily taken possession 
of Percy’s mind. He showed him how unreasonable were 
his complaints — how much he had to expect, and how 
little he had to regret. The consequence was that Percy 
admitted into his bosom a totally different train of thoughts 
from that in which he had been so long indulging. He 
took a more cheerful view of the past as well as of the 
future. He began to wonder at his own weakness and 
folly — at his own pride and selfishness. He now eagerly 
turned his attention toward home, and it was speedily ar- 
ranged that the three friends should leave California to- 
gether as soon as their business transactions were fully 
completed. 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


3t9 


CHAPTER LY. 

The season at Courtland Hall had again advanced to 
that period of quiet enjoyment when the harvest for the 
most part has been taken in, when the later fruits have 
matured for use, and the morning atmos})here has become 
more cool and bracing. Henry Courtland still continued 
to be busy on his farm, but it was not with employments 
that demanded as formerly the almost entire exertion of 
his physical powers. He now became interested in more 
pleasing and less pressing engagements. He walked to 
and fro over the domains of his extended property, which 
seemed like himself to be in some measure resting from 
its fatigues, and began with a serene complacency to con- 
sider the result of his labors. Sometimes he exulted in 
the abundance and rational comfort by which he was sur- 
rounded, and perhaps was insensibly indulging in the fond 
consciousness of possessing wealth, if not power. But at 
other times he seemed to feel the insufficiency of all earthly 
enjoyments. If on the one hand his labors had been 
crowned with an uncommon allotment of pecuniary pros- 
perity, he had on the other been brought to encounter his 
full share of the evils and sorrows of life. 

It was at this period that he was one day seated in the 
portico fronting his dwelling, and was giving way to a 
series of gloomy reflections which caused an unusual de- 
gree of heaviness to rest on his mind. His son still re- 
mained absent, nor had he received any satisfactory tidings 
concerning him calculated to remove his fears and anxiety. 
He wondered why it was necessary that he should be com- 
pelled to suffer this melancholy bereavement. He had been 
long looking for the dawn of a brighter day — for the reve- 
lation of a more blissful period — when the dark clouds 
that overshadowed him should be dissipated, and a glorious 
morning should succeed the frowning night that encircled 
his path. But at that crisis of his experience his hope 
was well-nigh gone. He felt sad and sorrowful, and in 


380 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


vain attempted to pierce the darkness which occasioned so 
much uneasiness. 

While thus employed — dissatisfied with the past — anx- 
ious about the future — unmindful of present enjoyments — 
his neighbor Thomas Russell made his appearance, and 
took a seat at his side. Before long they were both joined 
by Mrs. Courtland, and by Mrs. Truehope and her daughter 
Clara. 

“No tidings yet from those we love best,” said Mrs. 
Courtland. “I once thought that friends could be per- 
manently parted by nothing but the eternal world, but I 
now find that even in this world there are barriers of sepa- 
ration that sometimes as effectually exclude us from each 
other as the grave itself.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Truehope, “the whole world would 
seem to be a mighty sepulcher, which at times voraciously 
ingulfs the living as well as the dead. There is a 
moving mortality around us, which is confined to no par- 
ticular spot, but which in its desolation and loneliness 
renders the whole habitable globe one general Golgotha.” 

“The world is gloomy enough,” observed Clara, “and 
yet I cannot help thinking that we too often invest it with 
a darkness that does not belong to it. The images you 
have just made use of are terrible to my timid apprehen- 
sion, although I must believe they are only too true so far 
as regards my own sad experience.” 

“The grave! the grave!” repeated Mr. Russell, as if 
talking to himself more than to those around him. “ Great 
God, our friends bury themselves alive! Such a thought 
never entered my mind before!” 

“But if they are alive,” added Mrs. Courtland, “they 
may be exhumed from a sepulcher which is often seen even 
to cast forth its dead after the long lapse of years. Let us 
still hope that in our own cases we may witness a resur- 
rection that will present the objects of our love so entirely 
transformed and renewed in beauty and perfection, as amply 
to repay us for the long days and months that have 
shrouded their graves in darkness.” 

A general silence now pervaded the ranks of this little 
assembly. Not a word more was heard for some minutes, 
but each one present seemed to be deeply absorbed in his 
own thoughts. Henry Courtland had refrained thus 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


381 


far from utterinp^ a single remark. He sat with his arms 
folded on his breast, his eyes cast down, and the features 
of his face overcast with an expression of melancholy sad- 
ness so deep and- distressing as to excite the attention, if 
not the commiseration, of the circle of friends by which he 
was surrounded. At length Mr. Russell proceeded to re- 
mark : 

“And here is Henry Courtland, as effectually buried 
too for the present, as if we had just laid him, with all his 
busy employments, his joys and his sorrows, in the cold 
tomb, and had consigned his spirit and his understanding 
to a silence equally stern and unyielding.”. 

Our worthy farmer was roused from his reverie by this 
remark, and looked round him with concern, and perhaps 
with some degree of shame, on account of his supposed 
weakness. He attempted to rise from that state of dejec- 
tion intd which he had no doubt reluctantly fallen, but 
which he found it extremely difficult to overcome. It was 
evident that he felt a weight on his bosom that gave him 
very serious uneasiness, and the pressure of which no one 
could as fully understand as himself. With all his wisdom 
and practical good sense — with all his hearty, genial sym- 
pathy for the simple pleasures of a country life — with all 
his love of nature, and his aim to render himself and others 
happy — with all his good feeling and his pleasing methods 
of showing it — with all his philosophy and his religion — 
he found himself not entirely impregnable against that con- 
cealed grief which was preying on his heart. He tried to 
hope — he tried to become resigned — lie endeavored to cast 
his fears to the wind, and to place his confidence in that 
almighty arm which he knew was constantly exerci. ed for 
his happiness. He had, however, been for some time labor- 
ing under the effects of a wounded spirit, which none of us 
can bear with patience and equanimity. The grief of his 
bosom was truly painful, and it began to manifest itself 
in a fearful encroachment on his general happiness. But 
we have said that Henry Courtland roused himself from 
this state of dejection and misery, although the command 
he was able to exercise over his morbid feelings was hardly 
equal to the earnestness of his resolution. 

“Let us not talk of the grave yet, my friends,” he ob- 
served, in answer to the remarks which fell from the lips of 


382 


HENR Y CO UR TLA ND ; 


Mr. Russell. “Each of us has something to live for and 
something to do, although I know from my own experience 
how very difficult it is for us to bear our sorrows, so as to 
leave us perfectly free to discharge our duties faithfully in 
the world. When the heart becomes too full for the gov- 
ernment of the head, the whole system will experience the 
enervating effects of the ravaging disorder. Rut I still 
feel unshaken confidence in the ability which that organ 
possesses of exercising faith and hope, and regaining its 
lost energies in the midst of the severest conflicts. Poor 
Percy ! To me it does indeed seem that so far as regards 
the present world, he is lost to us forever — that his spirit 
has deserted us for some other sphere, between which and 
us there is a wide gulf, permitting none to pass save 
through the gates of death. The reflection is disheart- 
ening — ’tis painful — and yet we are left in full possession 
of that glorious thought, that we shall again meet and be 
happy in an eternal world, where nothing will be able to 
separate us again !” 

Henry Courtland uttered these words like one whose good 
sense is painfully striving with the melancholy feelings of a 
wounded spirit. He felt his sorrow — felt it most full3^and 
keenly — but he was determined that its discouraging effects 
should not rob him of all hope and consolation. If he was 
not entirely happy, he at least endeavored to render him- 
self cheerful and contented. It was remarkable that at this 
particular juncture Mr. Russell too, although sorely feeling 
the intense grief which had been so long preying on his 
heart, seemed to manifest quite as great a degree of compo- 
sure and resignation as had been shown by his more philo- 
so})hical and practical neighbor. Perhaps if his hope had 
become less, his submission to the divine will had become 
greater. He formerly demanded that his wishes should be 
gratified, he now only asked for patience. 

Clara tried to derive consolation from the conduct of 
those whose example she wished to follow. But her own 
sensitive nature was not so easily brought into subjection to 
the desires of her will. She was still disposed to complain, 
although she endeavored not to murmur. On the present 
occasion she uttered the simple dictates of a sorrowing but 
gentle bosom. 

“ I am unhappy,” said she, “ because in the prime of 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


383 


life I am left lone and destitute. But my son may yet be 
living — may yet be restored to the embraces of a mother’s 
love. Thousands of instances have no doubt occurred in 
the world, where parents and children have been separated 
for a season, but have met again never to part on this side 
the grave. Perhaps my child is now on his way to meet 
me. Perhaps he is anxiously inquiring the direction to 
this secluded country. And yet whom will he find to put 
him on the proper course ? If he should go to my old resi- 
dence in the City of New York, he will hardly meet with 
any person acquainted with my purpose of making this 
part of the State my permanent dwelling-place. How then 
will he be able to trace me ? Poor boy ! perhaps he is 
now inquiring for me in vain !” 

She had scarcely uttered these words before Rowland 
made his appearance and announced that two or three car- 
riages were approaching from the main road, and would 
be within sight in a few minutes. The company now has- 
tily withdrew into the large parlor, which formed the prin- 
cipal apartment of Courtland Hall. 

“Some of our friends from a distance,” said Mr. Court- 
land as they retired. “It is a lovely day, and I am really 
glad that we are about to be favored with visitors.” 

In a very short time the approaching vehicles stopped 
outside the spacious court or yard which fronted Court- 
land Hall, and a goodly troop of persons made their way 
through the center avenue toward the portico from which 
Mr. Courtland and his friends had just retreated. Row- 
land acted as usher to announce them at the house, and as 
soon as he entered the wide entry, threw open the parlor 
door. A scene of frantic joy and exultation was witnessed 
a moment afterward. Percy Courtland rushed into the 
arms of his father, and parent and child mingled their 
tears of triumph together. Mrs Courtland fainted away. 
Agnes Russell clung to the bosom of her parent with 
an emotion that was indescribable, and her brother 
took the hand of his father in mute silence, who was only 
able to say, “God bless you, my dear children ! God be 
praised for this unspeakable pleasure !” It was long before 
tranquillity was restored to the minds of the members of 
these two happy families. Every eye was moist, and yet 
every bosom was ecstatic with joy and gratitude. The 


384 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


lono^-lost children had been found again. The wearj wan- 
derers were again restored to their homes. The joyful pa- 
rents were again put in possession of their chief happiness. 
Such tender felicity — such sudden and ecstatic exultation 
— will not admit of description. The reader must look on 
in silence, and embody the picture for himself. 

During the warm and passionate interchange of feelings 
that took place between the parties, whose happy meeting 
we have attempted faintly to record above, Clara, the 
daughter of Mrs. Truehope, had retired to a remote cor- 
ner of the apartment in vvliich they were assembled, and 
seemed to be deeply affected by the pathetic scenes that 
were passing before her. Her heart was full, but she ut- 
tered not a word of complaint or sorrow. She thought on 
her own distressing bereavement, but she envied not the 
restored happiness of those around her. Presently Percy 
Courtland withdrew to the wide passage or hall, where 
two or three other individuals had been left waiting at the 
time the party we have already mentioned entered the par- 
lor. “I have now some friends to introduce,” said he, 
“ whom you will no doubt receive with a hearty welcome.” 

In a moment afterward he returned, leading in a young 
man whose smiling countenance betrayed the deep joy and 
satisfaction that was seated in his bosom. But his person 
had scarcely presented itself at the door, before a loud and 
piercing cry arose from the far end of the apartment. Clara 
ran forward, and fell on the neck of Molton Fairview. 
“My son ! my son! my long-lost son !” was all she was 
able to utter. “My mother^ my dear mother!” was all 
that proceeded from the lips of the young man. The eyes 
of the whole assembly gazed on the impressive spectacle 
with wonder and amazement. It was a scene that thrilled 
througli the bosom of every individual present. Mother 
and child clung to each other with a warmth of feeling 
that was wild and enthusiastic, until at last they sunk ex- 
hausted on a seat which their wondering friends found 
time to provide for the occasion. 

Man is fearfully and wonderfully made. Man’s destiny 
in life is sometimes almost equally wonderful. Here was 
a denouement of circumstances — a series of apparent ac- 
cidents — all tending to the same end — all having for their 
object the same remarkable discovery — which none who 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


385 


understood them could contemplate but with surprise and 
astonishment. But it will be best only to record the com- 
plete, sudden, and wonderful restoration of parent and child. 
The reader may imagine the rest from the feelings of his 
own heart. 

There was another incident connected with this remark- 
able drama which was almost equally surprising. Miss 
Russell in her turn retired to the hall for the purpose of 
introducing from thence two of her dearest friends, whom 
she was anxiously desirous to make acquainted with the 
company in the parlor. She joyfully conducted into the 
apartment Mr. Stanley and his daughter. But the instant 
the former individual presented himself before the com- 
pany, another exclamation of surprise from Mrs. Truehope 
astonished the wondering spectators. “ Surely,” cried 
that excellent lady, “this is my brother Edward! What 
a series of wonders are we passing through on this blessed 
day!” 

Stanley was indeed the brother of Mrs. Truehope, but 
he had lost sight of his sister ever since her first visit to 
New York, and her voyage immediately afterward to 
England. This will account for his ignorance of her move- 
ments subsequently. Indeed, he had never heard of her 
return to her native country, and supposed that she still 
resided in England. Mrs. Truehope retained a distinct 
recollection of her niece Letitia, but that young lady had 
changed so much from the lapse of years, that it required 
some considerable time before her aunt could recall those 
girlish features of her person with which she had once 
been so familiar. 

It would be an unpardonable omission not to record the 
part which that simple but heroic girl, Maggy, saw proper 
to perform in these remarkable proceedings. She remained 
quietly seated with the other part of the company in the 
outside passage, and seemed to be modestly waiting her 
turn to be introduced to her friends in the grand parlor. 
But so interesting and protracted had been the several in- 
terviews that took place between her companions and their 
friends — so wonderful had been the revelations that had 
just transpired — that Maggy’s quiet and patience at last 
became completely exhausted. She was no longer able to 

33 


386 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


withstand the stron"* desire she felt of witnessing* these 
warm and wonderful recognitions, and of identifying her 
own feelings with the marvelous events of that day. As 
soon, therefore, as she heard Mr. Stanley pronounced the 
brother of Mrs. Truehope, she could contain herself no 
longer. She rushed into the parlor of her own accord. 
She was of course cordially greeted and welcomed by her 
old friends, and was embraced by Mr. and Mrs. Courtland 
with almost the same warmth that had accompanied the 
return of their own child. All who were present not only 
accorded her a hearty welcome, but complimented her be- 
cause of her courage and heroism, some account of which 
Agnes Russell was already engaged in furnishing to her 
eager listeners. 

When this was over, Agnes had an additional duty to 
perform, which she seemed to attend to* with even more 
eagerness and delight than she manifested in regard to any 
other event that had transpired on that joyful morning. 
She on a sudden passed out of the parlor with considera- 
ble haste, and in a moment afterward introduced to her 
parents the individual to whom she considered herself 
more indebted for the happiness they were all enjoying 
than to any other person. This,” said she, “ is our old 
friend and acquaintance Billy Braxton, the man whom we 
ought to delight to honor — the man to whom I owe my 
present enjoyment and my hopes of future felicity. The 
least we can do is to feel grateful to him for his disinterested 
kindness and benevolence ” 

Mr. Russell received his old acquaintance with a hearty 
greeting. He was of course unable to comprehend 
the full meaning of the language made use of by Agnes. 
But he felt too happy on the occasion not to reward 
their alleged benefactor with the overflowings of his 
own grateful heart. He begged him to accept his sincere 
thanks for the benefits acknowledged to have been re- 
ceived from him by his daughter, and gave him the assur- 
ance of a more hearty and extended gratitude whenever 
he should become fully informed of the particular acts of 
kindness which he had shown toward her. 

We are not to suppose that the appearance of Braxton 
occasioned but little surprise to the parties with whom he 
was now brought in contact. . Mr. Russell indeed had al- 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


'387 


ready become somewhat familiar with that remarkable 
change so striking in the person and beiiaviorof his old ac- 
quaintance, but Mr. and Mrs. Courtland could not but regard 
this change as something very extraordinary. It was evi- 
dent that their old friend Billy ]5raxton had become an en- 
tirely different person from what they knew him to be only 
two or three years before. So remarkable was this change 
that they could not help feeling a high degree of awkward- 
ness in his presence, or rather perhaps a consciousness of 
that sort of restraint which carries with it something of awe 
and reverence. While they regarded his language and 
appearance with wonder and surprise, the only outward 
token they gave of the internal workings of their own 
minds was an expressive silence. 

There remained yet to be introduced to our happy cir- 
cle that free hearted and good-natured individual, Darsie 
Hopkins, together with a personage of somewhat higher 
distinction, but perhaps of scarcely a nobler heart, I mean 
Ex-Governor Cartwright. These two gentlemen were at- 
tached to the company which had so joyfully and so un- 
expectedly arrived at Courtland Hall on that memorable 
day, and had imparted such sudden happiness to its lan- 
guid and almost desponding inmates. The first was re- 
ceived with the welcome due to a new acquaintance, who 
is likely to become a permanent and valuable friend. The 
last was hailed, by Mr. Courtland at least, as a man in 
whose company and conversation he had found great de- 
light on a previous occasion, and whom he was now dis- 
posed to meet with the warmest feelings of attachment 
and enthusiasm. Both were welcomed as guests in whom 
the whole family would feel the deepest interest, and would 
take the sincerest pleasure to honor and make happ}". 

“ 1 feel rejoiced now,” said Henry Courtland, after the 
excitement of this unlooked-for meeting had somewhat 
abated, “ I feel a much greater degree of satisfaction now 
than I deserve, or had any reason to expect. Indeed, my 
weakness was scarcely excusable — it was sinful. But I 
will not suffer my regrets to aggravate that which cannot 
now be helped, and wliich would only have a tendency to 
destroy my present enjoyments. It will be more wise to 
receive these blessings, so kindly bestowed by our heavenly 
Parent, with an bumble and grateful heart. I am happy 


388 * 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


now, and I feel it to be the will of that same heavenly Pa- 
rent that I should continue so.” 

Our good farmer, as the reader will imagine, was now 
brought into excellent humor with himself as well as with 
all around him. His generous qualities, as is always the 
case with genius and good sense, immediately began to 
seek for occasions to make others happy. What he so 
highly enjoyed himself he longed to impart to those 
around him. “ They cannot,” said he, “ fully enter into 
my own feelings. It is impossible they should understand 
the profoundness of my humility, the warmth of my grati- 
tude, or the exquisite sense 1 entertain of the divine good- 
ness. But what I cannot get them to understand inter- 
nally, they may at least partake of naturally. What they 
are unable to enjoy at its fountain-head, they may be able 
to taste at its remoter issues. My troubles began with a 
feast — I am determined they shall end in the same way. 
In a few days my friends shall be as happy as social 
hilarity and good cheer can make them.” 


CHAPTER LVL 

It was in honor of Percy Courtland’s birthday, as our 
readers well remember, that the feast to which his father 
alluded in the foregoing chapter was got up with so much 
parade and ceremony, and it was in honor of the res- 
toration of the same individual to the parental roof that 
another entertainment was now being provided equally 
rich, tasty, and magnificent. It was arranged that all the 
newly-arrived guests at Courtland Hall should remain 
there for the purpose of partaking of this splendid festi- 
val. Mrs. Courtland became even busier than before in 
attending to the preliminaries of this glorious repast. Nor 
was Maggy’s handiwork in relation to the matter much 
less necessary and important. She exerted herself with an 
alertness and vigor which showed that she entered with a 
new zest on the discharge of her old duties. She gave re- 
newed evidence of that good-humored pleasantry which on 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


389 


the former occa'=?ion she had displayed to so much advan- 
taox;, and of which slie still retained a distinct recollection. 
She even went so far as playfully to remind Braxton of 
the humble part he had seen proper to assume on the oc- 
casion in question. “ I am just as ready now as I was 
then,” said she, “to furnish you with a few crackers to stay 
the cravings of your appetite, should you happen this time 
again to be put otf with a late dinner. But in return for 
my kindness I shall expect you, as before, to promise to 
be pre.sent and dance at my wedding.” Whether Brax- 
ton’s eye this time glowed with that peculiar fiery expres- 
sion, with which Maggy professed to have made herself 
so familiar, we have had no means to inquire. But as that 
gentleman felt, like the friends by whom he was sur- 
rounded, that he had in a great measure surmounted the 
difficulties which had imparted a somewhat marked bias 
to his character, and as he was now strongly impressed 
with the prevailing good humor of the merry company at 
Courtland Hall, there is the less reason to believe that he 
took even the slighest offense at the sly pleasantry of his 
old friend Maggy. Billy Braxton had become a new man 
in more senses than one. 

The day at length arrived when our friendly and cheer- 
ful guests sat down to the generous feast provided for 
them by Henry Courtland and his lady. We will not un- 
dertake to enter into the particulars of this sumptuous 
entertainment. We will only say that in one important 
feature, perhaps, it was distinguished from all other enter- 
tainments, whether ancient or modern. It was partaken 
of by a circle of guests, whose happiness and good humor 
could hardly have been equaled in the same number of 
persons convened together anywhere for a similar purpose. 
Every brow was smooth — every heart was cheerful. It 
was just such a circle where it might be certain that good 
digestion would wait on appetite. 

“ This,” said Governor Cartwright to his friend Henry 
Courtland, who sat next to him, “ is what I call comforta- 
ble — nay, it is excellent and edifying — not so much on 
account of the viands that are so tastefully served up and 
so abundantly placed before us, as on account of the re- 
markable circumstances they are intended to commemo- 
rate. ” 


33 * 


S90 


HENRY COURTLAND; 


Every one within the hearinp: of his voice seemed to be 
deeply impressed with the truth of this observation. A 
momentary silence was the immediate consequence. Henry 
Courtland raised his eyes upward as if engaged in return- 
ing thanks for so many distinguished blessings. The looks 
of Percy and Agnes met, and a generous tear moistened 
the cheek of each of them. Clara Fairview glanced in 
tenderness toward her son, whose expressive countenance 
showed how deeply he could reciprocate her own feelings. 
But lest this generous S 3 mipathy should grow more tender 
and mournful than suited the occasion, Henry Courtland 
produced a change in the character of the conversation by 
proceeding to say, — 

“ Well, Governor, I believe I have not j^et been exactly 
informed how you all came to take passage in the same 
vessel, and how it happened that we have the exceeding 
great honor of entertaining 3 ^ou as guests on this joyful 
occasion.” 

“Your question is easily answered,” said the ex-gover- 
nor. “ We all happened to become wearied of California, 
as we all happened to close our respective missions to 
that distant country about the same time. It was there- 
fore soon arranged among us that we should embark for 
the City of New York, and sail home together. The 
events in which our mutual feelings, if not our destinies, 
had been so remarkably involved, and in which we expe- 
rienced such a deep interest, seemed to endear us to each 
other. When we arrived at the end of our voj^age, we 
were happy to know that our course, with the exception of 
that contemplated by Mr. Braxton, and by our young 
friends Hopkins and Fairview, lay pretty much in the 
same direction. But the two first seemed to have no de- 
termined scheme in view, and the last met with a severe 
disappointment in not being able to discover an\" certain 
traces of his mother. . Under these circumstances we all 
received a very pressing invitation from your son, and 
from Miss Russell and her brother, to come up here, and 
rest a few days from the fatigues to which we had been 
necessarily exposed during our voyage, and indeed before 
we left California. So far as regards myself, I feel assured 
that I cpuld have done nothing better, and this assurance, 
I have no doubt, is as cheerfully echoed by every one of 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


391 


our fellow-voyag’ers who on the present happy occasion 
are now so joyfully partaking- of 3^0111’ hospitality.” 

‘'Nothing, I am persuaded,” returned Mr. Courtland, 
“ could have added more to our pleasure to-day than the 
honor we have of entertaining such welcome guests. But 
while our cup of enjoyment is now full, we cannot but re- 
member with some kind of regret the painful disappoint- 
ment we experienced in not hearing oftener from those who 
were so dear to us. The silence so obstinately persisted in 
caused us almost as much anxiety and sorrow as if we had 
been circumstantially informed of the remarkable events 
that were transpiring around them.” 

“For my own part,” said Agnes, “I am sure I would 
have written a hundred times had I been convinced that 
by so doing I could have imparted happiness to a single 
bosom. But while I felt that it was impossible my letters 
should become the means of pleasure, I was unwilling to 
make them the instruments of pain.” 

“Humph!” replied Mr. Courtland. “That, after all, 
was laying down for yourself a rule of veiw doubtful pro- 
priety. And what have }^ou to say for yourself, Alfred? 
You, unhappily, were no less rigidly reserved than }mur 
sister.” 

“ And for almost precisely the same reasons,” observed 
Alfred Bussell. “ But if, as you seem to think, we may 
both be justly held censurable for our conduct, it may be 
that my own was not entirely inexcusable. Part of the 
tinie, you know, I was sick, and of course could not have 
written, however strong might have been my inclination.” 

“I do not blame you for your inability when sick, but 
for your negligence when well. I suppose, however, we 
are bound to let you pass, without making use of any very 
severe terms of censure. But here now is Percy. Doubt- 
less he can furnish us with a stronger and better reason 
than any we have yet had the pleasure of listening to.” 

“Alas, sir!” exclaimed Percy, “I am afraid that my 
own excuse, if I should attempt to frame one, would be 
considered by you as even weaker than any that has been 
presented by my companions.” 

“And yet,” said his father, “I must believe that it was 
sufficient to satisfy your own mind.” 

“ Nay,” replied Percy, “ in entertaining such a belief you 


392 


HENRY COURTLAND ; 


are entirely mistaken. It was pride — shame — a reluctance 
to own to myself and to others that I had succeeded so 
badly in the world — that prevented me from communicating 
with my friends.” 

“ But you seem to make this confession now with the 
utmost candor,” answered his father. “And to tell you 
the truth, I am greatly pleased with it. It was precisely 
that noble frankness which I had a right to expect from 
my dear son Percy. And now I am disposed to believe it 
would gratify the whole company to hear your present 
opinion about that choice of life which you made two 
years ago, and in regard to which, if you had to do it over 
again, you would perhaps hesitate much longer before 
making up your mind to pursue the same course.” 

“It is certainly not very pleasant,” answered Percy, 
“to make an open avowal of our own faults and blunders, 
nor indeed would it be always prudent to do so. But if 
my individual experience could be made to impart but 
one-tenth part of the benefit to others that I feel conscious 
it has been the means of conferring on myself, then \ am 
sure that I ought to speak out, even if it should be at the 
expense of some little shame and disadvantage to my 
better feelings.” 

“ Exactly so,” said his father. “ I find that you have 
not forgotten the lessons of your early years. Come, sir, 
tell us in a few words what you think of yourself now.” 

“Well,” returned Percy, “I think I shall hardly be 
tempted again to go in pursuit of those fancied advantages 
which are so flatteringly held out to us young folks by the 
world. As to selecting a calling or profession for myself 
in life, I feel now perfectly satisfied that I could hardly 
make a wiser choice than to retain that into which I have 
been at least partially initiated. Other callings niay indeed 
appear to be more profitable or more genteel. They may 
be more showy, and apparently engross to themselves a 
sphere of wider influence and more respectability But 
are they in reality more useful or more prosperous? Are 
they calculated to make men essentially more dignified or 
more happy? I have not willingl}^ neglected the study of 
mankind and their pursuits while abroad, and while my 
attention has been attracted by the outward glitter and 
show of some employments above others, I have by no 


OR, WIIAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


393 


means been convinced that the most plausible and im- 
posin^j* are those which are the most to be coveted. A 
sensible man will pay more regard to the uses of his em- 
plovment — to its capability of multiplying the real blessings 
of life — to its aptitude in increasing the means of human 
happiness — than to the mere deceptive show by which it is 
surrounded.” 

“ You are right, my son !” exclaimed his father. “ You 
are a thousand times right! How I rejoice to see that you 
have been brought to take a rational and practical view of 
a subject of so much importance ! It would only require 
that there should be a few young men with sentiments like~^ 
your own in every community, in order that the great pro- 
fession of the agriculturist should acquire that character 
and respectability in the world which it so justly merits.jff 

This exclamation was uttered by Henry Courtland with 
all that warmth and enthusiasm which characterized the 
strong love which he felt for his own darling profession — 
a love that now beamed from his eyes, and was depicted 
in every expression of his countenance. Nor was this 
feeling scarcely less strong in the minds of those who were 
partaking of his hospitality, and sharing his happiness. 
The face of Agnes Russell wore a smile of complacent 
gratulation, which went to show that she shared deeply 
and seriously the same spirit of enthusiasm. Stanley and 
Hopkins seemed to respond in the same way to the senti- 
ments that had just been uttered, and Molton Fairview 
looked at his mother with a pleasure so satisfied and trium- 
phant, that she was assured what had been said met with 
his hearty approval. Even Braxton gave unequivocal evi- 
dence of having entered into the general feeling. But it 
was Governor Cartwright who imbibed the fullest measure 
of his friend Henry Courtland’s enthusiasm. “ Your de- 
votion to a cause of so much magnitude,” said he, “and in 
which every American citizen especially ought to feel a 
deep and abiding interest, would do honor to a much 
younger man. What an important revolution it would 
create in the great affairs of our country, if all men could 
be brought to see this subject in the same light that it is 
regarded by yourself!” 

“And yet,” replied Courtland, “who does not see that 
it would not do for people generally to cherish my own 


394 


HE NR Y CO UR TL A ND ; 


entbusiasm ? In that case too many would direct all their 
powers and energies to a single pursuit, and we should be- 
come a nation of farmers instead of having our attention 
equally divided between the diversified employments and 
purposes of civilized life. I have never so much contended 
for an increase in the number of our agriculturists, as I have 
for a proper estimate of their peculiar advantages, and for 
a corresponding elevation of their tastes, habits, and enjoy- 
ments.” 

‘‘And it seems to me,” said the ex-governor, “that there 
is another reason why we should not give too much en- 
couragement to an inconsiderate and wild admiration of a 
country life. There are hundreds of young men so poor 
in the world that it would be utterly impossible for them, 
on first arriving at manhood, to acquire title to even the 
smallest piece of ground they might wish to call their own. 
This should be well considered by all young persons who 
are disposed to cultivate a taste for agricultural pursuits. 
If they are poor, and entirely dependent on their own re- 
sources, unless they possess an energy and perseverance 
that are given but to few, there is great danger that they 
will never ri.se above the vulgar level of an ordinary day 
laborer. Such a .situation is certainly not the most de- 
sirable. It may suit the disposition of some minds, for 
there must always be men in the world to till the ground. 
But it is hardly compatible with the feelings of other 
classes, even where there is no energy and no ambition.” 

“ I am disposed to agree with you in this view^ of our 
subject,” rejoined Henry Courtland, “ which onl}" shows 
that wm are to exdrcise prudence and caution in the choice 
of any profession. But Percy has made his choice, and I 
rejoice that on taking all things into consideration we must 
come to the conclusion that he has made a good one.” 

It is not our purpose to give any further particulars of 
the doings and sayings that characterized the company on 
this joyful occasion. We know that all hearts were glad 
— we have reason to believe that all understandings were 
enlightened. There was a feeling of benevolence and good 
humor pervading every mind, and a sincere desire on the 
part of the wdiole multitude to render each other happy. 

Reader, we have brought our story, such as it is, to a close. 
We have endeavored to point a moral as well as to adorn a 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


395 


tale. But our purpose perhaps has been more to instruct 
than amuse. If our simple narrative has taught you the 
uses of adversity — if you have been led to exercise a more 
enlightened faith in the dealings of an overruling Provi- 
dence — if you have seen how well the nobility of virtue 
may become the most unpretending station — if you have 
learned how wise it is to confess our faults, and to return 
from our wanderings to a new career of activity and use- 
fulness — then we can only say that the accomplishment of 
this is precisely what we have all along aimed at, although 
it is greatly more than our feeble hopes could have antici- 
pated. . 

But perhaps you will think that our tale has terminated 
too abruptly, and may feel a strong desire to be made ac- 
quainted with the subsequent fortunes of at least some, if 
not all, of the prominent individuals who have found a 
place in our story. In order to gratify this curiosity, if 
any such should exist, it is necessary for us to add a page 
or two more of matter by way of appendix. 

It was a considerable time after the period at which our 
tale closes that Percy Courtland, on a bright summer day, 
was sitting in the large parlor of Courtland Hall, sur- 
rounded by three or four healthy young children, and play- 
fully looking over the shoulders of a lady who was busily 
employed in writing, and who appeared to be nearly of 
the same age with himself. His father and^ mother, as 
well as his old friend and neighbor Mr. Russell, had been 
dead for several years, and in a cheerful and ripe old age 
had calmly resigned the world, with all its joys and sor- 
rows, to those who were to come after them. 

“ My dear Agnes,’’ said Percy, “you seem to be as busy 
as ever in making entries in your journal, and yet I am 
scarcely able to see why you should put yourself to so 
much trouble. Nobody is certainly made the wiser by 
your labor, as I believe nobody but yourself is ever per- 
mitted to read a single page that you seem to find such ex- 
treme pleasure in writing.” 

“And supposing,” replied Agnes, “that I alone could 
be benefited by the record I am making, and which I com- 
menced the very day after our happy marriage, that of 
itself would be a sufficient compensation for the labor I 
bestow on it. But the truth is I am vain enough to think. 


396 


HE^RY COURTLAND; 


should the Lord see proper to remove me first to the spir- 
itual world, that this journal may prove hereafter of some 
little benefit both to yourself and our dear children. Nay, 
even now I should have no objection to your perusing a 
stray leaf occasionally. If I thought the entry I have just 
succeeded in making would interest you, I am sure I would 
read it to you with the greatest pleasure.’’ 

“Oh, do let me hear it!” cried Percy; “you know I 
value everything that flows from your own pen.” 

“ Then listen,” said Agnes. “ The remarks I have just 
made on the paper before me, have been suggested to my 
mind by hearing this morning, as you know, of the death 
of Mrs, Truehope.”' Agnes then took up her journal and 
proceeded to read as follows : 

“We have just received intelligence of the death of our 
old friend, Mrs. Truehope. She was present at our wed- 
ding, and was one of the happy guests who, a few months 
before, was so kindly and generously entertained at the 
feast got up on our return from California by Percy’s 
father. The remembrance of this famous festival awakens 
in my mind a fresh sense of the many blessings we have 
since enjoyed, of the many dangers we had just then es- 
caped, and of the many friends from whom we occasionall}'^ 
hear, and whose happiness and prosperity in life continue 
to rejoice our own hearts. Mr. Stanley’s health became 
completely Restored after his return to the State of New 
York, and he still ministers affectionately to a small con- 
gregation which he took charge of soon after our marriage. 
Ilis daughter Letitia was courted and wedded by Harry, 
the brother of my dear Percy, and they are now living in 
this neighborhood, enjoying every blessing that we all 
knew would follow that happy union. — Her friend Virginia 
Truehope appears to be as passionately devoted as ever to 
the study of botany, and now that her mother is dead will 
in all probability seek to become an inmate in our own 
family. It is said by some that she is receiving the ad- 
dresses of Darsie Hopkins, whose age would seem to be 
about equal with her own, and whose reputation, as a man 
of business and integrity in a neighboring town, has been 
most happily growing with his years. — Mr. Braxton (our 
own dear Billy Braxton) has retired from a lucrative busi- 
ness, and his greatest delight now is to exercise his talents 


OR, WHAT A FARMER CAN DO. 


397 


and to manage his wealth in such a way as will render 
him most useful to his fellow-men. He especially feels a 
sincere concern for the welfare of the rising generation, 
and is ever devising schemes for the promotion of youthful 
virtue and the assistance of youthful talent. He frequently 
makes it a point to visit the neighborhood of Courtland 
Hall, where he spent some of the earliest years of his life, 
and whenever this is the case, he is sure to make our own 
dwelling his home. We could not be honored by a more 
worthy or a more agreeable guest — My brother Alfred, 
who realized some wealth when in California, is now re- 
siding on the farm we inherited from our deceased father, 
and has become one of the most prominent and active citi- 
zens of our county. He is fond of dealing in all kinds of 
live stock, and is celebrated at the fairs held in the sur- 
rounding country for the superior specimens furnished by 
him of the choicest breed of animals. Alfred is not yet 
married, and I am sometimes almost tempted to deny him 
the happiness which I believe he finds in our own family, 
in order that he may be led to seek in the friendship and 
regard of a more tender connection for a happiness of his 
own. — Maggy, my own faithful and devoted Maggy, since 
the death of Mrs. Courtland, has become to us not so much 
a servant whom we employ, as an humble friend and com- 
panion whom we love and esteem. Nothing but death, I 
am persuaded, will ever separate us. — Rowland, too, like 
a worn-out courser, is resting from the fatigues and troubles 
of life in that snug little cottage which Harry thought he 
could hardly expect to enjoy as an old bachelor, but which 
has been provided for him as an affectionate return for his 
long-continued and faithful services. ‘Blow me,’ ex- 
claimed Rowland, on first taking possession of his cottage, 

‘ if I did not know that my dreams would be fulfilled, and 
the remainder of my days be made happy I’ 

“In thus making a very brief statement of the circum- 
stances attending those noble and kind-hearted individuals 
who were formerly my best friends in adversity, I must 
not forget the names of Ex-Governor Cartwright and 
Molton Fairview. The former entered into a full appre- 
ciation of the merits of the latter, and kindly invited him 
to his own home for the purpose of enabling him to seek 
his fortune in the West. There, I am informed, they are 

34 


398 


HENRY COURTLAND. 


at present both realizing* the full extent of their hopes and 
wishes. The. ex-governor is becoming more and more a 
highly distinguished, if not a great man, and Molton is 
said to be fast following in his footsteps. The latter con- 
tinues to cherish his warm and early attachment for his 
parent, and mother and son are living together in the ut- 
most happiness. Molton no doubt has remained single 
principally on that account, but it is now reported that he 
is soon to be married to the only daughter of that kind 
friend and patron to whom he has been already indebted 
for so many favors.’’ 

When Agnes finished reading the foregoing statements, 
Percy expressed himself highly pleased with the entries 
she had just made in her journal. “This kind of informa- 
tion,” said he, “may indeed become interesting hereafter. 
But,” he continued, “you have omitted in your recital the 
mention of one character who figured prominently in the 
drama to which your journal alludes. You do not tell 
us what became of Captain Lamberton.” 

“Oh I” exclaimed Agnes, “1 am well aware of that, but 
I am not sure that such a statement ought to find admission 
into my journal I look back on the fate of Captain Lam- 
berton with pity — with grief — with almost astonishment. 
I am not willing to make a record of the truth. It is suf- 
ficient that you and I are acquainted with the melancholy 
fact, that soon after his return from California he became 
perfectly deranged, and died in a lunatic asylum in the 
City of New York.” 


. THE END. 


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Transcript. 


History of the Dervishes ; or., 

Spiritualism. By John P. Brown, Interpreter of the 
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Oriental 
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edition. i2mo. Cloth, I1.75. 

of ‘ The Initials,’ the dramatic unity of 
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Erom the Gerinan of E. Mur- 

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Over Yonder 

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Btihuer's Novels. Globe Editioii. Complete in 

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• 1-75 

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The Course of True I.ove 
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Our Own Birds of the United States. A Familiar 

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A Few Friends and How They Amused The7n- 

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author of “ Hans Blinker,” 
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Agfies Wentworth. A Novel. By E. Eoxton, 

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50 - 

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Life and Opinions of 

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Vanity Fair 2 vols. 

Pendennis 2 vols. 

Philip 2 vols. 

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Henry Esmond. 


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Incidents of the United States Christian Commis- 
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